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fore 


THE 


STILLWATER  TRAGEDY. 


r.v 


T.  B.  ALDRICH, 


1CTBOR  OF  "  M AEJORIE  DAW/'   "  THE  QUBUT  OF 
AJID  THOM,"  «TC. 


BOSTON: 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND  COMPANY. 
fTlje  HtbcritDt 

1880. 


COPYRIGHT,  1880, 
Br  T.  B.  ALDRICH. 

All  rights  reserved. 


RIVERSIDE,  CAMBRIDGE: 

•TEREOTTPED    AMD    PRINTED     BY 
H.   0.   HOUGHTON   AND   COMPANY. 


THE  STILLWATER  TRAGEDY. 


IT  is  close  upon  daybreak.  The  great  wall  of 
pines  and  hemlocks  that  keep  off  the  east  wind 
from  Stillwater  stretches  black  and  indeterminate 
against  the  sky.  At  intervals  a  dull,  metallic 
sound,  like  the  guttural  twang  of  a  violin  string, 
rises  from  the  frog-invested  swamp  skirting  the 
highway.  Suddenly  the  birds  stir  in  their  nests 
over  there  in  the  woodland,  and  break  into  that 
wild  jargoning  chorus  with  which  they  herald  the 
advent  of  a  new  day.  In  the  apple-orchards  and 
among  the  plum-trees  of  the  few  gardens  in  Still- 
water,  the  wrens  and  the  robins  and  the  blue-jays 
catch  up  the  crystal  crescendo,  and  what  a  melo- 
dious racket  they  make  of  it  with  their  fifes  and 
flutes  and  flageolets ! 

The  village  lies  in  a  trance  like  death.  Possibly 
not  a  soul  hears  this  music,  unless  it  is  the  watch- 
ers at  the  bedside  of  Mr.  Leonard  Tappleton,  the 


311006-7 


6  THE  STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

richest  man  in  town,  who  has  lain  dying  these 
three  days,  and  cannot  last  till  sunrise.  Or  per- 
haps some  mother,  drowsily  hushing  her  wakeful 
baby,  pauses  a  moment  and  listens  vacantly  to  the 
birds  singing.  But  who  else? 

The  hubbub  suddenly  ceases,  —  ceases  as  sud- 
denly as  it  began, —and  all  is  still  again  in  the 
woodland.  But  it  is  not  so  dark  as  before.  A 
faint  glow  of  white  light  is  discernible  behind  the 
ragged  line  of  the  tree-tops.  The  deluge  of  dark- 
ness is  receding  from  the  face  of  the  earth,  as  the 
mighty  waters  receded  of  old. 

The  roofs  and  tall  factory  chimneys  of  Stillwater 
are  slowly  taking  shape  in  the  gloom.  Is  that  a 
cemetery  coming  into  view  yonder,  with  its  ghostly 
architecture  of  obelisks  and  broken  columns  and 
huddled  head-stones  ?  No,  that  is  only  Slocum's 
Marble  Yard,  with  the  finished  and  unfinished 
work  heaped  up  like  snowdrifts,  —  a  cemetery  in 
embryo.  Here  and  there  in  an  outlying  farm  a 
lantern  glimmers  in  the  barn-yard :  the  cattle  are 
having  their  fodder  betimes.  Scarlet-capped  chant- 
icleer gets  himself  on  the  nearest  rail-fence  and 
lifts  up  his  rancorous  voice  like  some  irate  old 
cardinal  launching  the  curse  of  Rome.  Something 
crawls  swiftly  along  the  gray  of  the  serpentine 
turnpike,  —a  cart,  with  the  driver  lashing  a  jaded 


THE  STILLWATER  TRAGEDT.  7 

horse.  A  quick  wind  goes  shivering  by,  and  is  lost 
in  the  forest.v 

Now  a  narrow  strip  of  two-colored  gold  stretches 
along  the  horizon. 

Stillwater  is  gradually  coming  to  its  senses.  The 
sun  has  begun  to  twinkle  on  the  gilt  cross  of  the 
Catholic  chapel  and  make  itself  known  to  the 
doves  in  the  stone  belfry  of  the  South  Church. 
The  patches  of  cobweb  that  here  and  there  cling 
tremulously  to  the  coarse  grass  of  the  inundated 
meadows  have  turned  into  silver  nets,  and  the  mill- 
pond —  it  will  be  steel-blue  later  —  is  as  smooth 
and  white  as  if  it  had  been  paved  with  one  vast 
unbroken  slab  out  of  Slocum's  Marble  Yard. 
Through  a  row  of  button- woods  on  the  northern 
skirt  of  the  village  is  seen  a  square,  lap-streaked 
building,  painted  a  disagreeable  brown,  and  sur- 
rounded on  three  sides  by  a  platform,  —  one  of 
seven  or  eight  similar  stations  strung  like  Indian 
beads  on  a  branch  thread  of  the  Great  Sagamore 
Railway. 

Listen  !  That  is  the  jingle  of  the  bells  on  the 
baker's  cart  as  it  begins  its  rounds.  From  in- 
numerable chimneys  the  curdled  smoke  gives  evi- 
dence that  the  thrifty  housewife  —  or,  what  is 
rarer  in  Stillwater,  the  hired  girl  —  has  lighted  the 
kitchen  tire. 


8  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

The  chimney-stack  of  one  house  at  the  end  of  a 
small  court  —  the  last  house  on  the  easterly  edge 
of  the  village,  and  standing  quite  alone  —  sends  up 
no  smoke.  Yet  the  carefully  trained  ivy  over  the 
porch,  and  the  lemon  verbena  in  a  tub  at  the  foot 
of  the  steps,  intimate  that  the  place  is  not  unoccu- 
pied. Moreover,  the  little  schooner  which  acts  as 
weather-cock  on  one  of  the  gables,  and  is  now  head- 
ing due  west,  has  a  new  top-sail.  It  is  a  story-and- 
a-half  cottage,  with  a  large  expanse  of  roof,  which, 
covered  with  porous,  unpainted  shingles,  seems  to 
repel  the  sunshine  that  now  strikes  full  upon  it. 
The  upper  and  lower  blinds  on  the  main  building, 
as  well  as  those  on  the  extensions,  are  tightly 
closed.  The  sun  appears  to  beat  in  vain  at  the 
casements  of  this  silent  house,  which  has  a  curi- 
ously sullen  and  defiant  air,  as  if  it  had  desperately 
and  successfully  barricaded  itself  against  the  ap- 
proach of  morning;  yet  if  one  were  standing  in 
the  room  that  leads  from  the  bed-chamber  on  the 
ground-floor  —the  room  with  the  latticed  window  — 
one  would  see  a  ray  of  light  thrust  through  a  chink 
of  the  shutters,  and  pointing  like  a  human  finger  at 
an  object  which  lies  by  the  hearth. 

This  finger,  gleaming,  motionless,  and  awful  in 
its  precision,  points  to  th.e  body  of  old  Mr.  Lemuel 


THE  STILLWATEB  TRAGEDY.  9 

Shackford,  who  lies  there  dead  in  his  night-dress, 
with  a  gash  across  his  forehead. 

la  the  darkness  of  that  summer  night  a  deed 
darker  than  the  night  itself  had  been  done  in  Still- 
wiiter. 


II. 


THAT  morning,  when  Michael  Hennessey's  girl 
Mary  —  a  girl  sixteen  years  old  —  carried  the  can 
of  milk  to  the  rear  door  of  the  silent  house,  she  was 
nearly  a  quarter  of  hour  later  than  usual,  and 
looked  forward  to  being  soundly  rated. 

"  He 's  up  and  been  waiting  for  it,"  she  said  to 
herself,  observing  the  scullery  door  ajar.  "  Won't 
I  ketch  it !  It 's  him  for  growling  and  snapping  at 
a  body,  and  it 's  me  for  always  being  before  or  be- 
hind time,  bad  luck  to  me.  There's  no  plazing 
him." 

Mary  pushed  back  the  door  and  passed  through 
the  kitchen,  nerving  herself  all  the  while  to  meet 
the  objurgations  which  she  supposed  were  lying  in 
wait  for  her.  The  sunshine  was  blinding  without, 
but  sifted  through  the  green  jalousies,  it  made  a 
gray,  crepuscular  light  within.  As  the  girl  ap- 
proached the  table,  on  which  a  plate  with  knife 
and  fork  had  been  laid  for  breakfast,  she  noticed, 
somewhat  indistinctly  at  first,  a  thin  red  line  run- 
ning obliquely  across  the  floor  from  the  direction  of 


THE  STILL  WATER  TRAGEDY.  11 

the  sitting-room  and  ending  near  the  stove,  where 
it  had  formed  a  small  pool.  Mary  stopped  short, 
scarcely  conscious  why,  and  peered  instinctively 
into  the  adjoining  apartment.  Then,  with  a  smoth- 
ered cry,  she  let  fall  the  milk-can,  and  a  dozen 
white  rivulets,  in  strange  contrast  to  that  one  dark 
red  line  which  first  startled  her,  went  meandering 
over  the  kitchen  floor.  With  her  eyes  riveted 
upon  some  object  in  the  next  room,  the  girl  re- 
treated backward  slowly  and  heavily  dragging  one 
foot  after  the  other,  until  she  reached  the  scullery 
door ;  then  she  turned  swiftly,  and  plunged  into 
the  street. 

Twenty  minutes  later,  every  man,  woman,  and 
child  in  Stillwater  knew  that  old  Mr.  Shackford 
had  been  murdered. 

Mary  Hennessey  had  to  tell  her  story  a  hundred 
times  during  the  morning,  for  each  minute  brought 
to  Michael's  tenement  a  fresh  listener  hungry  for 
the  details  at  first  hand. 

"  How  was  it,  Molly  ?     Tell  a  body,  dear  I  " 

"  Don't  be  asking  me  I  "  cried  Molly,  pressing 
her  palms  to  her  eyes  as  if  to  shut  out  the  sight, 
but  taking  all  the  while  a  secret  creepy  satisfaction 
in  living  the  scene  over  again.  "  It  was  kinder  dark 
in  the  other  room,  and  there  he  was,  laying  in  his 
night-gownd,  with  his  face  turned  towards  me,  so, 


12  THE  STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

looking  mighty  severe-like,  jest  as  if  he  was  a-going 
to  say,  *  It 's  late  with  the  milk  ye  are,  ye  hussy  I ' 
—  a  way  he  had  of  spaking." 

"  But  he  did  n't  spake,  Molly  darlin'  ?  " 

"  Niver  a  word.  He  was  stone  dead,  don't  you 
see.  It  was  that  still  you  could  hear  me  heart  beat, 
saving  there  was  n't  a  drop  of  beat  in  it.  I  let  go 
the  can,  sure,  and  then  I  backed  out,  with  me  eye 
on  'im  all  the  while,  afeard  to  death  that  he  would 
up  and  spake  them  words." 

"  The  pore  child !  for  the  likes  of  her  to  be 
wakin'  up  a  murthered  man  in  the  mornin' !  " 

There  was  little  or  no  work  done  that  day  in 
Stillwater  outside  the  mills,  and  they  were  not  run- 
ning full  handed.  A  number  of  men  from  the  Mi- 
antowona  Iron  Works  and  Slocum's  Yard —  Slocum 
employed  some  seventy  or  eighty  hands —  lounged 
about  the  streets  in  their  blouses,  or  stood  in  knots 
in  front  of  the  tavern,  smoking  short  clay  pipes. 
Not  an  urchin  put  in  an  appearance  at  the  small  red 
brick  building  on  the  turnpike.  Mr.  Pinkham,  the 
school-master,  waited  an  hour  for  the  recusants, 
then  turned  the  key  in  the  lock  and  went  home. 

Dragged-looking  women,  with  dishcloth  or  dust- 
pan in  hand,  stood  in  door-ways  or  leaned  from  win- 
dows, talking  in  subdued  voices  with  neighbors  on 
the  curb-stone.  In  a  hundred  far-away  cities  the 


THE  STILLWATER  TRAGEDY.  13 

news  of  the  suburban  tragedy  had  already  been 
read  and  forgotten  ;  but  here  the  horror  stayed. 

There  was  a  constantly  changing  crowd  gathered 
in  front  of  the  house  in  Welch's  Court.  An  inquest 
was  being  held  in  the  room  adjoining  the  kitchen. 
The  court,  which  ended  at  the  gate  of  the  cottage, 
was  fringed  for  several  yards  on  each  side  by  rows 
of  squalid,  wondering  children,  who  understood  it 
that  Coroner  Whidden  was  literally  to  sit  on  the 
dead  body,  —  Mr.  Whidden,  a  limp,  inoffensive  lit- 
tle man,  who  would  not  have  dared  to  sit  down  on 
a  fly.  He  had  passed,  pallid  and  perspiring,  to  the 
scene  of  his  perfunctory  duties. 

The  result  of  the  investigation  was  awaited  with 
feverish  impatience  by  the  people  outside.  Mr. 
Shackford  had  not  been  a  popular  man;  he  had 
been  a  hard,  avaricious,  passionate  man,  holding  his 
own  way  remorselessly.  He  had  been  the  reverse 
of  popular,  but  he  had  long  been  a  prominent  char- 
acter in  Stillwater,  because  of  his  wealth,  his  end- 
less lawsuits,  and  his  eccentricity,  an  illustration  of 
which  was  his  persistence  in  living  entirely  alone  in 
the  isolated  and  dreary  old  house,  that  was  hence- 
forth to  be  inhabited  by  his  shadow.  Not  his 
shadow  alone,  however,  for  it  was  now  remembered 
that  the  premises  were  already  held  in  fee  by 
another  phantasmal  tenant.  At  a  period  long  an- 


14  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

terior  to  this,  one  Lydia  Sloper,  a  widow,  bad  died 
an  unexplained  death  under  that  same  roof.  The 
coincidence  struck  deeply  into  the  imaginative  por- 
tion of  Still  water.  "  The  widow  Sloper  and  old 
Shackford  have  made  a  match  of  it,"  remarked  f, 
local  humorist,  in  a  grimmer  vein  than  customary. 
Two  ghosts  had  now  set  up  housekeeping,  as  it 
were,  in  the  stricken  mansion,  and  what  might  not 
be  looked  for  in  the  way  of  spectral  progeny  I 

It  appeared  to  the  crowd  in  the  lane  that  the 
jury  were  unconscionably  long  in  arriving  at  a  de- 
cision, and  when  the  decision  was  at  length  reached 
it  gave  but  moderate  satisfaction.  After  a  spend- 
thrift waste  of  judicial  mind  the  jury  had  decided 
that  "  the  death  of  Lemuel  Shackford  was  caused 
by  a  blow  on  the  left  temple,  inflicted  with  some 
instrument  not  discoverable,  in  the  hands  of  some 
person  or  persons  unknown." 

"  We  knew  that  before,"  grumbled  a  voice  in  the 
crowd,  when,  to  relieve  public  suspense,  Lawyer 
Perkins  —  a  long,  lank  man,  with  stringy  black 
hair  —  announced  the  verdict  from  the  doorstep. 

The  theory  of  suicide  had  obtained  momentary 
credence  early  in  the  morning,  and  one  or  two  still 
clung  to  it  with  the  tenacity  that  characterizes 
persons  who  entertain  few  ideas.  To  accept  this 
theory  it  was  necessary  to  believe  that  Mr.  Shack 


THE  STILLWATEB  TRAGEDY.  15 

ford  had  ingeniously  hidden  the  weapon  after  strik- 
ing himself  dead  with  a  single  blow.  No,  it  was 
not  suicide.  So  far  from  intending  to  take  his  own 
life,  Mr.  Shackford,  it  appeared,  had  made  rather 
careful  preparations  to  live  that  day.  The  break- 
fast-table had  been  laid  over  night,  the  coals  left 
ready  for  kindling  in  the  Franklin  stove,  and  a  ket- 
tle, filled  with  water  to  be  heated  for  his  tea  or 
coffee,  stood  on  the  hearth. 

Two  facts  had  sharply  demonstrated  themselves  : 
first,  that  Mr.  Shackford  had  been  murdered  ;  and, 
second,  that  the  spur  to  the  crime  had  been  the 
possession  of  a  sum  of  money,  which  the  deceased 
was  supposed  to  keep  in  a  strong-box  in  his  bedroom. 
The  padlock  had  been  wrenched  open,  and  the  less 
valuable  contents  of  the  chest,  chiefly  papers,  scat- 
tered over  the  carpet.  A  memorandum  among  the 
papers  seemed  to  specify  the  respective  sums  in 
notes  and  gold  that  had  been  deposited  in  the  box. 
A  document  of  some  kind  had  been  torn  into  mi- 
nute pieces  and  thrown  into  the  waste-basket.  On 
close  scrutiny  a  word  or  two  here  and  there  re- 
vealed the  fact  that  the  document  was  of  a  legal 
character.  The  fragments  were  put  into  an  envel- 
ope and  given  in  charge  of  Mr.  Shackford 's  lawyer, 
who  placed  seals  on  that  and  on  the  drawers  of  an 
escritoire  which  stood  in  the  corner  and  contained 
other  manuscript. 


16  THE  STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

The  instrument  with  which  the  fatal  blow  had 
been  dealt  —  for  the  autopsy  showed  that  there  had 
been  but  one  blow  —  was  not  only  not  discoverable, 
but  the  fashion  of  it  defied  conjecture.  The  shape 
of  the  wound  did  not  indicate  the  use  of  any  im- 
plement known  to  the  jurors,  several  of  whom  were 
skilled  machinists.  The  wound  was  an  inch  and 
three  quarters  in  length  and  very  deep  at  the  ex- 
tremities;  in  the  middle  it  scarcely  penetrated  to 
the  cranium.  So  peculiar  a  cut  could  not  have  been 
produced  with  the  claw  part  of  a  hammer,  because 
the  claw  is  always  curved,  and  the  incision  was 
straight.  A  flat  claw,  such  as  is  used  in  opening 
packing-cases,  was  suggested.  A  collection  of  the 
several  sizes  manufactured  was  procured,  but  none 
corresponded  with  the  wound  ;  they  were  either  too 
wide  or  too  narrow.  Moreover,  the  cut  was  as  thin 
as  the  blade  of  a  case-knife. 

"  That  was  never  done  by  any  tool  in  these 
parts,"  declared  Stevens,  the  foreman  of  the  finish- 
ing shop  at  Slocum's. 

The  assassin  or  assassins  had  entered  by  the 
scullery  door,  the  simple  fastening  of  which,  a  hook 
and  staple,  had  been  broken.  There  were  foot- 
prints in  the  soft  clay  path  leading  from  the  side 
gate  to  the  stone  step ;  but  Mary  Hennessey  had 
BO  confused  and  obliterated  the  outlines  that  now  it 


THE  STILLWATER  TRAGEDY.  17 

was  impossible  accurately  to  measure  them.  A 
hulf-lmrned  match  was  found  under  the  sink,  —  evi- 
dently thrown  there  by  the  burglars.  It  was  of  a 
kind  known  as  the  safety-match,  which  can  be  ig- 
nited only  by  friction  on  a  strip  of  chemically  pre- 
pared paper  glued  to  the  box.  As  no  box  of  this 
description  was  discovered,  and  as  all  the  other 
matches  in  the  house  were  of  a  different  make,  the 
charred  splinter  was  preserved.  The  most  minute 
examination  failed  to  show  more  than  this.  The 
last  time  Mr.  Shackford  had  been  seen  alive  was  ftt 
six  o'clock  the  previous  evening. 

Who  had  done  the  deed  ? 

Tramps  !  answered  Stillwater,  with  one  voice, 
though  Stillwater  lay  somewhat  out  of  the  natural 
highway,  and  the  tramp — that  bitter  blossom  of 
civilization  whose  seed  was  blown  to  us  from  over 
seas  —  was  not  then  so  common  by  the  New  Eng- 
land roadsides  ajs  he  became  five  or  six  years  later. 
But  it  was  intolerable  not  to  have  a  theory  ;  it  was 
that  or  none,  for  conjecture  turned  to  no  one  in  the 
village.  To  be  sure,  Mr.  Shackford  had  been  in 
litigation  with  several  of  the  corporations,  and  had 
had  legal  quarrels  with  more  than  one  of  his  neigh- 
bors ;  but  Mr.  Shackford  had  never  been  victorious 
in  any  of  these  contests,  and  the  incentive  of  re- 

8 


IS  THE  STILL  WATER   TRAGEDY. 

venge  was  wanting  to  explain  the  crime.  Besides, 
it  was  so  clearly  robbery. 

Though  the  gathering  around  the  Shackford 
house  had  reduced  itself  to  half  a  dozen  idlers,  and 
the  less  frequented  streets  had  resumed  their  nor- 
mal aspect  of  dullness,  there  was  a  strange,  electric 
quality  in  the  atmosphere.  The  community  was  in 
that  state  of  suppressed  agitation  and  suspicion 
which  no  word  adequately  describes.  The  slightest 
circumstance  would  have  swayed  it  to  the  belief  in 
any  man's  guilt ;  and,  indeed,  there  were  men  in 
Still  water  quite  capable  of  disposing  of  a  fellow- 
creature  for  a  much  smaller  reward  than  Mr.  Shack- 
ford  had  held  out.  In  spite  of  the  tramp  theory,  a 
harmless  tin-peddler,  who  had  not  passed  through 
the  place  for  weeks,  was  dragged  from  his  glitter- 
ing cart  that  afternoon,  as  he  drove  smilingly  into 
town,  and  would  have  been  roughly  handled  if  Mr. 
Richard  Shackford,  a  cousin  of  the  deceased,  had 
not  interfered. 

As  the  day  wore  on,  the  excitement  deepened  in 
intensity,  though  the  expression  of  it  became  nearly 
reticent.  It  was  noticed  that  the  lamps  throughout 
the  village  were  lighted  an  hour  earlier  than  usual. 
A  sense  of  insecurity  settled  upon  Stillwater  with 
the  falling  twilight, — that  nameless  apprehension 
which  is  possibly  more  trying  to  the  nerves  than 


THE  STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  19 

tangible  danger.  When  a  man  is  smitten  inexplic- 
ably, as  if  by  a  bodiless  hand  stretched  out  of  a 
cloud,  —  when  the  red  slayer  vanishes  like  a  mist 
and  leaves  no  faintest  trace  of  his  identity,  —  the 
mystery  shrouding  the  deed  presently  becomes  more 
appalling  than  the  deed  itself.  There  is  something 
paralyzing  in  the  thought  of  an  invisible  hand  some- 
where ready  to  strike  at  your  life,  or  at  some  life 
dearer  than  your  own.  Whose  hand,  and  where  is 
it?  Perhaps  it  passes  you  your  coffee  at  break- 
fast ;  perhaps  you  have  hired  it  to  shovel  the  snow 
off  your  sidewalk ;  perhaps  it  has  brushed  against 
you  in  the  crowd  ;  or  may  be  you  have  dropped  a 
coin  into  the  fearful  palm  at  a  street  corner.  Ah, 
the  terrible  unseen  hand  that  stabs  your  imagina- 
tion, —  this  immortal  part  of  you  which  is  a  hun- 
dred times  more  sensitive  than  your  poor  perish- 
able body  I 

In  the  midst  of  situations  the  most  solemn  and 
tragic  there  often  falls  a  light  purely  farcical  in  its 
incongruity.  Such  a  gleam  was  unconsciously  pro- 
jected upon  the  present  crisis  by  Mr.  Bodge,  better 
known  in  the  village  as  Father  Bodge.  Mr.  Bodge 
was  stone  deaf,  naturally  stupid,  and  had  been 
nearly  moribund  for  thirty  years  with  asthma.  Just 
before  night-fall  he  had  crawled,  in  his  bewildered, 
wheezy  fashion,  down  to  the  tavern,  where  he  found 


20  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

a  sombre  crowd  in  the  bar-room.  Mr.  Bodge  or- 
dered his  mug  of  beer,  and  sat  sipping  it,  glancing 
meditatively  from  time  to  time  over  the  pewter  rim 
at  the  mute  assembly.  Suddenly  he  broke  out : 
"  S'pose  you  've  heerd  that  old  Shackford  's  ben 
murdered." 

So  the  sun  went  down  on  Stillwater.  Again  the 
great  wall  of  pines  and  hemlocks  made  a  gloom 
against  the  sky.  The  moon  rose  from  behind  the 
tree-tops,  frosting  their  ragged  edges,  and  then 
sweeping  up  to  the  zenith  hung  serenely  above  the 
world,  as  if  there  were  never  a  crime,  or  a  tear,  or 
a  heart-break  in  it  all. 


III. 


ON  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day  Mr.  Shack- 
ford  was  duly  buried.  The  funeral,  under  the  direc- 
tion of  Mr.  Richard  Shackford,  who  acted  as  chief 
mourner  and  was  sole  mourner  by  right  of  kinship, 
took  place  in  profound  silence.  The  carpenters, 
who  had  lost  a  day  on  Bishop's  new  stables,  inter- 
mitted their  sawing  and  hammering  while  the  serv- 
ices were  in  progress  ;  the  steam  was  shut  off  in 
the  iron-mills,  and  no  clinking  of  the  chisel  was 
heard  in  the  marble  yard  for  an  hour,  during  which 
many  of  the  shops  had  their  shutters  up.  Then,* 
when  all  was  over,  the  imprisoned  fiend  in  the  boil- 
ers gave  a  piercing  shriek,  the  leather  bands  slipped 
on  the  revolving  drums,  the  spindles  leaped  into 
life  again,  and  the  old  order  of  things  was  rein- 
stated, —  outwardly,  but  not  in  effect. 

In  general,  when  the  grave  closes  over  a  man  his 
career  is  ended.  But  Mr.  Shackford  was  never  so 
much  alive  as  after  they  had  buried  him.  Never 
before  had  he  filled  so  large  a  place  in  the  public 
eye.  Though  invisible,  he  sat  at  every  fireside. 


22  THE   STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY. 

Until  the  manner  of  his  death  had  been  made  clear, 
his  ubiquitous  presence  was  not  to  be  exorcised. 
On  the  morning  of  the  memorable  day  a  reward  of 
one  hundred  dollars  —  afterwards  increased  to  five 
hundred,  at  the  instance  of  Mr.  Shackford's  cousin 
—  had  been  offered  by  the  board  of  selectmen  for 
the  arrest  andsconviction  of  the  guilty  party.  Be- 
yond this  and  the  unsatisfactory  inquest,  the  au- 
thorities had  done  nothing,  and  were  plainly  not 
equal  to  the  situation. 

When  it  was  stated,  the  night  of  the  funeral, 
that  a  professional  person  was  coining  to  Stillwater 
to  look  into  the  case,  the  announcement  was  re- 
ceived with  a  breath  of  relief. 

The  person  thus  vaguely  described  appeared  on 
the  spot  the  next  morning.  To  mention  the  name 
of  Edward  Taggett  is  to  mention  a  name  well 
known  to  the  detective  force  of  the  great  city  lying 
sixty  miles  southwest  of  Stillwater.  Mr.  Taggett's 
arrival  sent  such  a  thrill  of  expectancy  through  the 
village  that  Mr.  Leonard  Tappleton,  whose  obse- 
quies occurred  this  day,  made  his  exit  nearly  unob- 
served. Yet  there  was  little  in  Mr.  Taggett's  phys- 
ical aspect  calculated  to  stir  either  expectation  or 
enthusiasm  :  a  slender  man  of  about  twenty-six, 
but  not  looking  it,  with  overhanging  brown  mus- 
tache, sparse  side-whiskers,  eyes  of  no  definite  color, 


THE  STILLWATEB  TRAGEDY.  23 

and  faintly  accentuated  eyebrows.  He  spoke  pre- 
cisely, and  with  a  certain  unembarrassed  hesitation, 
as  persons  do  who  have  two  thoughts  to  one  word, 
—  if  there  are  such  persons.  You  might  have 
taken  him  for  a  physician,  or  a  journalist,  or  the 
secretary  of  an  insurance  company  ;  but  you  would 
never  have  supposed  him  the  man  who  had  disen- 
tangled the  complicated  threads  of  the  great  Bar- 
nabee  Bank  defalcation. 

Stillwater's  confidence,  which  had  risen  into  the 
nineties,  fell  to  zero  at  sight  of  him.  "  Is  that 
Taggett?"  they  asked.  That  was  Taggett ;  and 
presently  his  influence  began  to  be  felt  like  a  sea- 
turn.  The  three  Dogberrys  of  the  watch  were  dis- 
patched on  secret  missions,  and  within  an  hour  it 
was  ferreted  out  that  a  man  in  a  cart  had  been 
seen  driving  furiously  up  the  turnpike  the  morning 
after  the  murder.  This  was  an  agricultural  district, 
the  road  led  to  a  market  town,  and  teams  going 
by  in  the  early  dawn  were  the  rule  and  not  the  ex- 
ception ;  but  on  that  especial  morning  a  furiously 
driven  cart  was  significant.  Jonathan  Beers,  who 
farmed  the  Jenks  land,  had  heard  the  wheels  and 
caught  an  indistinct  glimpse  of  the  vehicle  as  he 
was  feeding  the  cattle,  but  with  a  reticence  purely 
rustic  had  not  been  moved  to  mention  the  circum- 
stance before. 


24  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  Taggett  has  got  a  clew,"  said  Stillwater  under 
its  breath. 

By  noon  Taggett  had  got  the  man,  cart  and  all. 
Fut  it  was  only  Bluftou's  son  Tom,  of  South  Mill- 
ville,  who  had  started  in  hot  haste  that  particular 
morning  to  secure  medical  service  for  his  wife,  of 
which  she  had  sorely  stood  in  need,  as  two  tiny 
girls  in  a  willow  cradle  in  South  Millville  now  bore 
testimony. 

"I  haven't  been  cutting  down  the  population 
much"  said  Blufton,  with  his  wholesome  laugh. 

Thomas  Blufton  was  well  known  and  esteemed 
in  Stillwater,  but  if  the  crime  had  fastened  itself 
upon  him  it  would  have  given  something  like  popu- 
lar satisfaction. 

In  the  course  of  the  ensuing  forty-eight  hours 
four  or  five  tramps  were  overhauled  as  having  been 
in  the  neighborhood  at  the  time  of  the  tragedy; 
but  they  each  had  a  clean  story,  and  were  let  go. 
Then  one  Durgin,  a  workman  at  Slocum's  Yard, 
was  called  upon  to  explain  some  half-washed-out 
red  stains  on  his  overalls,  which  he  did.  He  had 
tightened  the  hoops  on  a  salt-pork  barrel  for  Mr. 
Shackford  several  days  previous  ;  the  red  paint  on 
the  head  of  the  barrel  was  fresh,  and  had  come  off 
on  his  clothes.  Dr.  Weld  examined  the  spots  under 
a  microscope,  and  pronounced  them  paint.  It  was 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  25 

manifest  that  Mr.  Taggett  meant  to  go  to  the  bot- 
tom of  things. 

The  bar-room  of  the  Stillwater  hotel  was  a  cen- 
tre of  interest  these  nights ;  not  only  the  bar-room 
proper,  but  the  adjoining  apartment,  where  the 
more  exclusive  guests  took  their  seltzer-water  and 
looked  over  the  metropolitan  newspapers.  Twice  a 
week  a  social  club  met  here,  having  among  its  mem- 
bers Mr.  Craggie,  the  postmaster,  who  was  sup- 
posed to  have  a  great  political  future,  Mr.  Pink- 
ham,  Lawyer  Perkins,  Mr.  Whidden,  and  other 
respectable  persons.  The  room  was  at  all  times  in 
some  sense  private,  with  a  separate  entrance  from 
the  street,  though  another  door,  which  usually  stood 
open,  connected  it  with  the  main  saloon.  In  this 
was  a  long  mahogany  counter,  one  section  of  which 
was  covered  with  a  sheet  of  zinc  perforated  like  a 
sieve,  and  kept  constantly  bright  by  restless  cara- 
vans of  lager-beer  glasses.  Directly  behind  that 
end  of  the  counter  stood  a  Gothic  brass-mounted 
beer-pump,  at  whose  faucets  Mr.  Snelling,  the  land- 
lord, flooded  you  five  or  six  mugs  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye,  and  raised  the  vague  expectation  that  he 
was  about  to  grind  out  some  popular  operatic  air. 
At  the  left  of  the  pump  stretched  a  narrow  mirror, 
reflecting  the  gayly-colored  wine-glasses  and  decan- 
ters which  stood  on  each  other's  shoulders,  and  held 


26  THE  STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

up  lemons,  and  performed  various  acrobatic  feats 
on  a  shelf  in  front  of  it. 

The  fourth  night  after  the  funeral  of  Mr.  Shack- 
ford,  a  dismal  southeast  storm  caused  an  unusual 
influx  of  idlers  in  both  rooms.  With  the  rain 
splashing  against  the  casements  and  the  wind  slam- 
ming the  blinds,  the  respective  groups  sat  discuss- 
ing in  a  desultory  way  the  only  topic  which  could 
be  discussed  'at  present.  There  had  been  a  general 
strike  among  the  workmen  a  fortnight  before  ;  but 
even  that  had  grown  cold  as  a  topic. 

"  That  was  hard  on  Tom  Blufton,"  said  Stevens, 
emptying  the  ashes  out  of  his  long-stemmed  clay 
pipe,  and  refilling  the  bowl  with  cut  cavendish  from 
a  jar  on  a  shelf  over  his  head. 

Michael  Hennessey  set  down  his  beer-mug  with 
an  air  of  argumentative  disgust,  and  drew  one 
sleeve  across  his  glistening  beard. 

"  Stavens,  you  've  as  many  minds  as  a  weather- 
cock, jist !  Did  n't  ye  say  yerself  it  looked  mighty 
black  for  the  lad  when  he  was  took  ?  " 

"  I  might  have  said  something  of  the  sort,"  Ste- 
vens admitted  reluctantly,  after  a  pause.  "  His 
driving  round  at  daybreak  with  an  empty  cart  did 
have  an  ugly  look  at  first." 

"Indade,  then." 

"  Not  to  anybody  who  knew  Tom  Blufton,"  in- 


THE  STILLWATER  TRAGEDY.  27 

temipted  Samuel  Piggott,  Blufton's  brother-in-Jaw. 
"  Tbe  boy  bas  n't  a  bad  streak  in  bira.  It  was  an 
outrage.  Might  as  well  have  suspected  Parson 
Langly  or  Father  O'Meara." 

"  If  this  kind  of  thing  goes  on,"  remarked  a  man 
in  the  corner  with  a  patch  over  one  eye,  "  both  of 
them  reverend  gents  will  be  hauled  up,  I  shculd  n't 
wonder." 

"  That 's  so,  Mr.  Peters,"  responded  Durgin.  "  If 
my  respectability  did  n't  save  me,  who 's  safe?  " 

"  Durgin  is  talking  about  his  respectability  I 
He  's  joking." 

"  Look  here,  Dexter,"  said  Durgin,  turning 
quickly  on  the  speaker,  "  when  I  want  to  joke,  I 
talk  about  your  intelligence." 

"  What  kind  of  man  is  Taggett,  anyhow  ?  ' 
asked  Piggott.  "  You  saw  him,  Durgin." 

"  I  believe  he  was  at  Justice  Beemis's  office  the 
day  Blufton  and  I  was  there ;  but  I  did  n't  make 
him  out  in  the  crowd.  Should  n't  know  him  from 
Adam." 

"  Stillwater  's  a  healthy  place  for  tramps  jest 
about  this  time,"  suggested  somebody.  "  Three  on 
'em  snaked  in  to-day." 

44 1  think,  gentlemen,  that  Mr.  Taggett  is  on  the 
right  track  there,"  observed  Mr.  Snelling,  in  the  act 
of  mixing  another  Old  Holland  for  Mr.  Peters. 


28  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  Not  too  sweet,  you  said  ?  I  feel  it  in  my  bones 
that  it  was  a  tramp,  and  that  Mr.  Taggett  will 
bring  him  yet." 

"  He  won't  find  him  on  the  highway  yonder," 
said  a  tall,  swarthy  man  named  Torrini,  an  Italian. 
Nationalities  clash  in  Stillwater.  "  That  tramp  is 
a  thousand  miles  from  here." 

"  So  he  is  if  he  has  any  brains  under  his  hat," 
returned  Snelling.  "  But  they  're  on  the  lookout 
for  him.  The  minute  he  pawns  anything,  he  's 
gone." 

"  Can't  put  up  greenbacks  or  gold,  can  he  ?  He 
did  n't  take  nothing  else,"  interposed  Bishop,  the 
veterinary  surgeon. 

"  No  jewelry  nor  nothing  ?  " 

"  There  was  n't  none,  as  I  understand  it,"  said 
Bishop,  "  except  a  silver  watch.  That  was  all  snug 
nnder  the  old  man's  piller." 

"  Wanter  know  !  "  ejaculated  Jonathan  Beers. 

"  I  opine,  Mr.  Craggie,"  said  the  school-master, 
standing  in  the  inner  room  with  a  rolled-up  file  of 
the  Daily  Advertiser  in  his  hand,  "  that  the  person 
who  —  who  removed  our  worthy  townsman  will 
never  be  discovered." 

"  I  should  n't  like  to  go  quite  so  far  as  that,  sir," 
answered  Mr.  Craggie,  with  that  diplomatic  suav- 
ity which  leads  to  postmasterships  and  seats  in  the 


THE  8TILLWATEB   TRAGEDY.  29 

General  Court,  and  has  even  been  known  to  oil  a 
dull  fellow's  way  into  Congress.  "  I  Cannot  take 
quite  so  hopeless  a  view  of  it.  There  are  difficul- 
ties, but  they  must  be  overcome,  Mr.  Pinkham,  ami 
I  think  they  will  be." 

"  Indeed,  I  hope  so,"  returned  the  school-mastei 
"  But  there  are  cases  —  are  there  not?  —  in  which 
the — the  problem,  if  I  may  so  designate  it,  has 
never  been  elucidated,  and  the  persons  who  under- 
took it  have  been  obliged  to  go  to  the  foot,  so  to 
speak." 

44  Ah,  yes,  there  are  such  cases,  certainly.  There 
was  the  Burdell  mystery  in  New  York,  and,  later, 
the  Nathan  affair  —  By  the  way,  I  've  satisfactory 
theories  of  my  own  touching  both.  The  police  were 
baffled,  and  remain  so.  But,  my  dear  sir,  observe 
for  a  moment  the  difference." 

Mr.  Pinkham  rested  one  finger  on  the  edge  of  a 
little  round  table,  and  leaned  forward  in  a  respect- 
ful attitude  to  observe  the  difference. 

44  Those  crimes  were  committed  in  a  vast  metrop- 
olis affording  a  thousand  chances  for  escape,  as  well 
as  offering  a  thousand  temptations  to  the  lawless. 
But  we  are  a  limited  community.  We  have  no 
professional  murderers  among  us.  The  deed  wlfich 
has  stirred  society  to  its  utmost  depths  was  plainly 
done  by  some  wayfaring  amateur.  Remorse  has 


30  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

already  seized  upon  him,  if  the  police  have  n't.  For 
the  time  being  he  escapes ;  but  he  is  bound  to  be- 
tray himself  sooner  or  later.  If  the  right  steps  are 
taken,  —  and  I  have  myself  the  greatest  confidence 
in  Mr.  Taggett,  —  the  guilty  party  can  scarcely  fail 
to  be  brought  to  the  bar  of  justice,  if  he  does  u't 
bring  himself  there." 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  I  hope  so,"  repeated  Mr.  Pink- 
ham. 

"  The  investigation  is  being  carried  on  very 
closely." 

"  Too  closely,"  suggested  the  school-master. 
'  "  Oh  dear,  no,"  murmured  Mr.  Craggie.  "  The 
strictest  secrecy  is  necessary  in  affairs  of  this  deli- 
cate nature.  If  Tom,  Dick,  and  Hanry  were  taken 
behind  the  scenes,"  he  added,  with  the  air  of  not 
wishing  to  say  too  much,  "  the  bottom  would  drop 
out  of  everything." 

•Mr.  Pinkham  shrunk  from  commenting  on  a  dis- 
aster like  that,  and  relapsed  into  silence.  Mr. 
Craggie,  with  his  thumbs  in  the  arm-holes  of  his 
waistcoat,  and  his  legs  crossed  in  an  easy,  senato- 
rial fashion,  leaned  back  in  the  chair  and  smiled 
blandly. 

"  I  don't  suppose  there  's  nothing  new,  boys  I  " 
exclaimed  a  fat,  florid  man,  bustling  in  good-nat- 
uredly at  the  public  entrance,  and  leaving  a  straight 


THE  STILLWATER  TRAGEDY.  81 

wet  trail  on  the  sanded  floor  from  the  threshold  to 
the  polished  mahogany  counter.  Mr.  Willson  was 
a  local  humorist  of  the  Falstaffian  stripe,  though 
not  so  much  witty  in  himself  as  the  cause  of  wit  in 
others. 

•'  No,  Jemmy,  there  is  n't  anything  new,"  re- 
sponded Dexter. 

"  I  suppose  you  did  n't  hear  that  the  ole  man 
done  somethin'  handsome  for  me  in  his  last  will 
and  testyment." 

*•  No,  Jemmy,  I  don't  think  he  has  made  any 
provision  whatever  for  an  almshouse." 

"  Sorry  to  hear  that,  Dexter,"  said  Willson,  ab- 
sorbedly  chasing  a  bit  of  lemon  peel  in  his  glass 
with  the  spoon  handle,  "  for  there  is  n't  room  for 
us  all  up  at  the  tywn-farm.  How's  your  grand- 
mother ?  Finds  it  tol'rably  comfortable  ?  " 

They  are  a  primitive,  candid  people  in  their 
hours  of  unlaced  social  intercourse  in  Stillwater. 
This  delicate  tu  quoque  was  so  far  from  wounding 
Dexter  that  he  replied  carelessly,  — 

"Well,  only  so  so.  The  old  woman  complains 
of  too  much  chicken-sail  id,  and  hot-house  grapes  all 
the  year  round." 

"  Mr.  Shackford  must  have  left  a  large  property," 
observed  Mr.  Ward,  of  the  firm  of  Ward  &  Lock, 
glancing  up  from  the  columns  of  the  Stillwater 


32  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

Gazette.  The  remark  was  addressed  to  Lawyer 
Perkins,  who  had  just  joined  the  group  in  the  read- 
ing-room. 

"  Fairly  large,"  replied  that  gentleman  crisply. 

"  Any  public  bequests? " 

"  None  to  speak  of." 

Mr.  Craggie  smiled  vaguely. 

"  You  see,"  said  Lawyer  Perkins,  "  there  's  a  will 
and  no  will,  —  that  is  to  say,  the- fragments  of  what 
is  supposed  to  be  a  will  were  found,  and  we  are  try- 
ing to  put  the  pieces  together.  It  is  doubtful  if  we 
can  do  it ;  it  is  doubtful  if  we  can  decipher  it  after 
we  have  done  it ;  and  if  we  decipher  it  it  is  a  ques- 
tion whether  the  document  is  valid  or  not." 

"  That  is  a  masterly  exposition  of  the  dilemma, 
Mr.  Perkins,"  said  the  scliool-niaster  warmly. 

Mr.  Perkins  had  spoken  in  his  court-room  tone 
of  voice,  with  one  hand  thrust  into  his  frilled  shirt- 
bosom.  He  removed  this  hand  for  a  second,  as  he 
gravely  bowed  to  Mr.  Pinkham. 

"Nothing  could  be  clearer,"  said  Mr.  Ward. 
"  In  case  the  paper  is  worthless,  what  then  ?  I  am 
not  asking  you  in  your  professional  capacity,"  he 
added  hastily  ;  for  Lawyer  Perkins  had  been  known 
to  send  in  a  bill  on  as  slight  a  provocation  as  Mr. 
Ward's. 

"  That  's  a  point.  The  next  of  kin  has  his 
claims." 


THE  STILLWATER  TRAGEDY.  33 

44  My  friend  Shackford,  of  course,"  broke  in  Mr. 
Craggie.  .  u  Admirable  young  man  !  —  one  of  my 
warmest  supporters." 

"  He  is  the  only  heir  at  law  so  far  as  we  know," 
said  Mr.  Perkins. 

"  Oh,"  said  Mr.  Craggie,  reflecting.  "  The  late 
Mr.  Shackford  might  have  had  a  family  in  Timbuc- 
too  or  the  Sandwich  Islands." 

"  That 's  another  point." 

"  The  fact  would  be  a  deuced  unpleasant  point 
for  young  Shackford  to  run  against,"  said  Mr. 
Ward. 

"  Exactly." 

"  If  Mr.  Lemuel  Shackford,"  remarked  Coroner 
Whidden,  softly  joining  the  conversation  to  which 
he  had  been  listening  in  his  timorous,  apologetic 
manner,  "  had  chanced,  in  the  course  of  his  early 
sea-faring  days,  to  form  any  ties  of  an  unhappy 
complexion  "  — 

44  Complexion  is  good,"  murmured  Mr.  Craggie. 
44  Some  Hawaiian  lady  !" 

—  "  perhaps  that  would  be  a  branch  of  the  case 
worth  investigating  in  connection  with  the  homi- 
cide. A  discarded  wife,  or  a  disowned  son,  burn- 
ing with  a  sense  of  wrong  "  •*- 

44  Really,  Mr.  Whidden  I  "  interrupted  Lawyer 
Perkins  witheringly,  44it  is  bad  enough  for  my 


34  THE  STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

client  to  lose  his  life,  without  having  his  reputation 
filched  away  from  him." 

"I  —  I  will  explain  !  I  was  merely  suppos- 
ing "  — 

"  The  law  never  supposes,  sir !  " 

This  threw  Mr.  Whidden  into  great  mental  con- 
fusion. As  coroner  was  he  not  an  integral  part  of 
the  law,  and  when,  in  his  official  character,  he  sup- 
posed anything  was  not  that  a  legal  supposition? 
But  was  he  in  his  official  character  now,  sitting 
with  a  glass  of  lemonade  at  his  elbow  in  the  read- 
ing-room of  the  Stillwater  hotel  ?  Was  he,  or  was 
he  not,  a  coroner  all  the  time?  Mr.  Whidden 
stroked  an  isolated  tuft  of  hair  growing  low  on  the 
middle  of  his  forehead,  and  glared  mildly  at  Mr. 
Perkins. 

"  Young  Shackford  has  gone  to  New  York,  I  un- 
derstand," said  Mr.  Ward,  breaking  the  silence. 

Mr.  Perkins  nodded.  "Went  this  morning  to 
look  after  the  real-estate  interests  there.  It  will 
probably  keep  him  a  couple  of-  weeks,  —  the  longer 
the  better.  He  was  of  no  use  here.  Lemuel's 
death  was  a  great  shock  to  him,  or  rather  the  man- 
ner of  it  was." 

"  That  shocked  every  one.  They  were  first 
cousins,  weren't  they?"  Mr.  Ward  was  a  com- 
paratively new  resident  in  Stillwater. 


THE  STILLWATEB  TRAGEDY.  85 

•'  First  cousins,"  replied  Lawyer  Perkins  ;  "  but 
they  were  never  very  intimate,  you  know." 

**  I  imagine  nobody  was  ever  very  intimate  with 
Mr.  Shackford." 

"  My  client  was  somewhat  peculiar  in  his  friend- 
ships." 

This  was  stating  it  charitably,  for  Mr.  Perkins 
knew,  and  every  one  present  knew,  that  Lemuel 
Shackford  had  not  had  the  shadow  of  a  friend  in 
Stillwater,  unless  it  was  his  cousin  Richard. 

A  cloud  of  mist  and  rain  was  blown  into  the  bar- 
room as  the  street  door  stood  open  for  a  second  to 
admit  a  dripping  figure  from  the  outside  darkness. 

"  What  '«  blowed  down  ?  "  asked  Durgin,  turn- 
ing round  on  his  stool  and  sending  up  a  ring  of 
smoke  which  uncurled  itself  with  difficulty  in  the 
dense  atmosphere. 

"  It 's  only  some  of  Jeff  Stavers's  nonsense." 

"  No  nonsense  at  all,"  said  the  new-comer,  as  he 
shook  the  heavy  beads  of  rain  from  his  felt  hat. 
"  I  was  passing  by  Welch's  Court  —  it 's  as  black 
as  pitch  out,  fellows  —  when  slap  went  something 
against  my  shoulder  ;  something  like  wet  wings. 
Well,  I  was  scared.  It 's  a  bat,  says  I.  But  the 
thing  did  n't  fly  off ;  it  was  still  clawing  at  my 
•houlder.  I  put  up  my  hand,  and  I  '11  be  shot  if  it 
was  n't  the  foremast,  jib-sheet  and  all,  of  the  old 


36  THE   ST1LLWATER   TRAGEDY, 

weather-cock  on  the  north  gable  of  the  Shackford 
house !  Here  you  are  !  "  and  the  speaker  tossed  the 
broken  mast,  with  the  mimic  sails  dangling  from  it, 
into  Durgin's  lap. 

A  dead  silence  followed,  for  there  was  felt  to  be 
something  weirdly  significant  in  the  incident. 

"  That 's  kinder  omernous,"  said  Mr.  Peters,  in- 
terrogatively. 

"  Ominous  of  what  ?  "  asked  Durgin,  lifting  the 
wet  mass  from  his  knees  and  dropping  it  on  the 
floor. 

"  Well,  sorter  queer,  then." 

"  Where  does  the  queer  come  in  ?  "  inquired 
Stevens,  gravely.  "  I  don't  know  ;  but  I  'm  hit 
by  it." 

"  Come,  boys,  don't  crowd  a  feller,"  said  Mr. 
Peters,  getting  restive.  "  I  don't  take  the  contract 
to  explain  the  thing.  But  it  does  seem  some  way 
droll  that  the  old  schooner  should  be  wrecked  so 
soon  after  what  has  happened  to  the  old  skipper. 
If  you  don't  see  it,  or  sense  it,  I  don't  insist. 
What 's  yours,  Denyven  ?  " 

The  person  addressed  as  Denyven  promptly  re- 
plied, with  a  fine  sonorous  English  accent,  "  A  mug 
of  'alf  an'  'alf,  —  with  a  head  on  it,  Snelling." 

At  the  same  moment  Mr.  Craggie,  in  the  inner 
room,  was  saying  to  the  school-master,  — 


THE  STILLWATER  TRAGEDY.  37 

•*!  must  really  take  issue  with  you  there,  Mr. 
Pinkham.  I  admit  there  's  a  good  deal  in  spiritual 
ism  which  we  have  n't  got  at  yet ;  the  science  is  in 
its  infancy  ;  it  is  still  attached  to  the  bosom  of  specu- 
lation. It  is  a  beautiful  science,  that  of  psycholog- 
ical phenomena,  and  the  spiritualists  will  yet  be- 
come an  influential  class  of"  —  Mr.  Cmggie  was 
going  to  say  voters,  but  glided  over  it  —  "  persons. 
I  believe  in  clairvoyance  myself  to  a  large  extent. 
Before  my  appointment  to  the  post-office  I  had  it 
very  strong.  I  Ve  no  doubt  that  in  the  fur  future 
this  mysterious  factor  will  be  made  great  use  of  in 
criminal  cases;  but  at  present  I  should  resort  to 
it  only  in  the  last  extremity,  —  the  very  last  ex- 
tremity, Mr.  Pinkham !  " 

*'  Oh,  of  course,"  said  the  school-master  depre- 
catingly.  "  I  threw  it  out  only  as  the  merest 
suggestion.  I  shouldn't  think  of  —  of — you  un- 
derstand me  ?  " 

•'  Is  it  beyond  the  dreams  of  probability,"  said 
Mr.  Craggie,  appealing  to  Lawyer  Perkins,  "that 
clairvoyants  may  eventually  be  introduced  into 
cases  in  our  courts  ?  " 

"  They  are  now,"  said  Mr.  Perkins,  with  a  snort, 
—  "  the  police  bring  'em  in." 

Mr.  Craggie  finished  the  remainder  of  his  glass 
»f  sherry  in  silence,  and  presently  rose  to  go.  Cor- 


38  THE   STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY. 

oner  Whidden  and  Mr.  Ward  had  already  gone 
The  guests  in  the  public  room  were  thinning  out ; 
a  gloom,  indefinable  and  shapeless  like  the  night, 
seemed  to  have  fallen  upon  the  few  that  lingered. 
At  a  somewhat  earlier  hour  than  usual  the  gas  was 
shut  off  in  the  Still  water  hotel. 

In  the  lonely  house  in  Welch's  Court  a  light  was 
still  burning. 


IV. 


A  SORELY  perplexed  man  sat  there,  bending  over 
his  papers  by  the  lamp-light.  Mr.  Taggett  had 
established  himself  at  the  Shackford  house  on  his 
arrival,  preferring  it  to  the  hotel,  where  he  would 
have  been  subjected  to  the  curiosity  of  the  guests 
and  to  endless  annoyances.  Up  to  this  moment, 
perhaps  not  a  dozen  persons  in  the  place  had  had 
more  than  a  passing  glimpse  of  him.  He  was  a  very 
busy  man,  working  at  his  desk  from  morning  until 
night,  and  then  taking  only  a  brief  walk,  for  exer- 
cise, in  some  unfrequented  street.  His  meals  were 
sent  in  from  the  hotel  to  the  Shackford  house, 
where  the  constables  reported  to  him,  and  where  he 
held  protracted  conferences  with  Justice  Beemis, 
Coroner  Whidden,  Lawyer  Perkins,  and  a  few 
others,  and  declined  to  be  interviewed  by  the  local 
editor. 

To  the  outside  eye  that  weather-stained,  faded  old 
house  appeared  a  throbbing  seat  of  esoteric  intelli- 
gence. It  was  as  if  a  hundred  invisible  magnetic 
threads  converged  to  a  focus  under  that  loof  and 


40  THE  STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

incessantly  clicked  out  the  most  startling  informa- 
tion, —  information  which  was  never  by  any  chance 
allowed  to  pass  beyond  the  charmed  circle.  As 
nothing  came  of  it  all,  this  secrecy  grew  exasperat- 
ing. The  pile  of  letters  which  the  mail  brought  to 
Mr.  Taggett  every  morning  —  chiefly  anonymous 
suggestions,  and  offers  of  assistance  from  lunatics 
in  remote  cities  —  was  enough  in  itself  to  exasper- 
ate a  community. 

Covertly  at  first,  and  then  openly,  Stillwater  be- 
gan seriously  to  question  Mr.  Taggett's  method  of 
working  up  the  case.  The  Gazette,  in  a  double- 
leaded  leader,  went  so  far  as  to  compare  him  to  a 
bird  with  fine  feathers  and  no  song,  and  to  suggest 
that  perhaps  the  bird  might  have  sung  if  the  in- 
ducement offered  had  been  more  substantial.  A 
singer  of  Mr.  Taggett's  plumage  was  not  to  be 
caught  by  such  chaff  as  five  hundred  dollars.  Hav- 
ing killed  his  man,  the  editor  proceeded  to  remark 
that  he  would  suspend  judgment  until  next  week. 

As  if  to  make  perfect  the  bird  comparison,  Mr. 
Taggett,  after  keeping  the  public  in  suspense  for 
six  days  and  nights,  abruptly  flew  away,  with  all 
the  little  shreds  and  straws  of  evidence  he  had 
picked  up,  to  build  his  speculative  nest  elsewhere. 

The  defection  of  Mr.  Taggett  caused  a  mild 
panic  among  a  certain  portion  of  the  inhabitants, 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  41 

who  were  not  reassured  by  the  statement  in  the 
Gazette  that  the  case  would  now  be  placed  in  the 
proper  hands,  —  the  hands  of  the  county  constab- 
ulary. "  Within  a  few  days,"  said  the  editor  in 
conclusion,  "  the  matter  will  undoubtedly  be  cleared 
up.  At  present  we  cannot  say  more ;  "  and  it 
would  have  puzzled  him  very  much  to  do  so. 

A  week  passed,  and  no  fresh  light  was  thrown 
upon  the  catastrophe,  nor  did  anything  occur  to 
ruffle  the  usual  surface  of  life  in  the  village.  A  man 
—  it  was  Torrini,  the  Italian  —  got  hurt  in  Dana's 
iron  foundry;  one  of  Blufton's  twin  girls  died; 
and  Mr.  Slocum  took  on  a  new  hand  from  out  of 
town.  That  was  all.  Stillwater  was  the  Still- 
water  of  a  year  ago,  with  always  the  exception 
of  that  shadow  lying  upon  it,  and  the  fact  that 
small  boys  who  bad  kindling  to  get  in  were  care- 
ful to  get  it  in  before  nightfall.  It  would  appear 
that  the  late  Mr.  Shackford  had  acquired  a  habit 
of  lingering  around  wood-piles  after  dark,  and  also 
of  stealing  into  bed-chambers,  where  little  children 
were  obliged  to  draw  the  sheets  over  their  heads  in 
order  not  to  see  him. 

The  action  of  the  county  constabulary  had  proved 
quite  as  mysterious  and  quite  as  barren  of  result 
RS  Mr.  Taggett's  had  been.  They  had  worn  his 
mantle  of  secrecy,  and  arrested  his  tramps  over 
again. 


42  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

Another  week  dragged  by,  and  the  editorial  pre- 
diction seemed  as  far  as  ever  from  fulfillment.  But 
on  the  afternoon  which  closed  that  fortnight  a  very 
singular  thing  did  happen.  Mr.  Slocum  was  sitting 
alone  in  his  office,  which  occupied  the  whole  of  a 
small  building  at  the  right  of  the  main  gate  to  the 
marble  works,  when  the  door  behind  him  softly 
opened  and  a  young  man,  whose  dress  covered  with 
stone-dust  indicated  his  vocation,  appeared  on  the 
threshold.  He  hesitated  a  second,  and  then  stepped 
into  the  room.  Mr.  Slocum  turned  round  with  a 
swift,  apprehensive  air. 

"  You  gave  me  a  start !  I  believe  I  have  n't  any 
nerves  left.  Well?" 

"  Mr.  Slocum,  I  have  found  the  man." 

The  proprietor  of  the  marble  yard  half  rose 
from  the  desk  in  his  agitation. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  he  asked  beneath  his  breath. 

The  same  doubt  or  irresolution  which  had  checked 
the  workman  at  the  threshold  seemed  again  to  have 
taken  possession  of  him.  It  was  fully  a  moment 
before  he  gained  the  mastery  over  himself;  but 
the  mastery  was  complete ;  for  he  leaned  forward 
gravely,  almost  coldly,  and  pronounced  two  words. 
A  quick  pallor  overspread  Mr.  Slocum's  features. 

"  Good  God  ! "  he  exclaimed,  sinking  back  into 
ihe  chair.  "  Are  you  mad  !  " 


V. 


THE  humblest  painter  of  real  life,  if  he  could 
have  his  desire,  would  select  a  picturesque  back- 
ground for  his  figures;  but  events  have  un  inex- 
orable fashion  of  choosing  their  own  landscape.  In 
the  present  instance  it  is  reluctantly  conceded  that 
there  are  few  uglier  or  more  commonplace  towns 
in  New  England  than  Stillwater,  —  a  straggling, 
overgrown  village,  with  whose  rural  aspects  are 
curiously  blended  something  of  the  grimness  and 
squalor  of  certain  shabby  city  neighborhoods.  Be- 
ing of  comparatively  recent  date,  the  place  has 
none  of  those  colonial  associations  which,  like 
sprigs  of  lavender  in  an  old  chest  of  drawers,  are 
a  saving  grace  to  other  quite  as  dreary  nooks  and 
corners. 

Here  and  there  at  what  is  termed  the  West  End 
is  a  neat  brick  mansion  with  garden  attached,  where 
nature  asserts  herself  in  dahlias  and  china-asters ; 
but  the  houses  are  mostly  frame  houses  that  have 
tukt-n  a  prevailing  dingy  tint  from  the  breath  of 
the  tall  chimneys  which  dominate  the  village.  The 


44  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

sidewalks  in  the  more  aristocratic  quarter  are  cov- 
ered with  a  thin,  elastic  paste  of  asphalte,  worn 
down  to  the  gravel  in  patches,  and  emitting  in  the 
heat  of  the  day  an  astringent,  bituminous  odor. 
The  population  is  chiefly  of  the  rougher  sort,  such 
as  breeds  in  the  shadow  of  foundries  and  factories ; 
and  if  the  Protestant  pastor  and  the  fatherly  Cath- 
olic priest,  whose  respective  lots  are  cast  there,  have 
sometimes  the  sense  of  being  missionaries  dropped 
in  the  midst  of  a  purely  savage  community,  the  de- 
lusion is  not  wholly  unreasonable. 

The  irregular  heaps  of  scoria  that  have  accumu- 
lated in  the  vicinity  of  the  iron  works  give  the 
place  an  illusive  air  of  antiquity ;  but  it  is  neither 
ancient  nor  picturesque.  The  oldest  and  most  pic- 
torial thing  in  Stillwater  is  probably  the  marble 
yard,  around  three  sides  of  which  the  village  may 
be  said  to  have  sprouted  up  rankly,  bearing  here 
and  there  an  industrial  blossom  in  the  shape  of  an 
iron-mill  or  a  cardigan-jacket  manufactory.  Row- 
land Slocum,  a  man  of  considerable  refinement, 
great  kindness  of  heart,  and  no  force,  inherited  the 
yard  from  his  father,  and  at  the  period  this  narra- 
tive opens  (the  summer  of  187-)  was  its  sole  pro- 
prietor and  nominal  manager,  the  actual  manager 
being  Richard  Shackford,  a  prospective  partner  in 
the  business  and  the  betrothed  of  Mr.  Slocum's 
daughter  Margaret. 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  45 

Forty  years  ago  every  tenth  person  in  Stillwater 
was  either  a  Shackford  or  a  Slocum.  Twenty  yeare 
later  both  names  were  nearly  extinct  there.  That 
fatality  which  seems  to  attend  certain  New  Eng- 
land families  had  stripped  every  leaf  but  two  from 
the  Shackford  branch.  These  were  Lemuel  Shack- 
ford,  then  about  forty-six,  and  Richard  Shackford, 
aged  four.  Lemuel  Shackford  had  laid  up  a  com- 
petency as  ship-master  in  the  New  York  and  Cal- 
cutta trade,  and  in  1852  had  returned  to  his  native 
village,  where  he  found  his  name  and  stock  repre- 
sented only  by  little  Dick,  a  very  cheerful  orphan, 
who  stared  complacently  with  big  blue  eyes  at  fate, 
and  made  mud-pies  in  the  lane  whenever  he  could 
elude  the  vigilance  of  the  kindly  old  woman  who 
had  taken  him  under  her  roof.  This  atom  of  hu- 
manity, by  some  strange  miscalculation  of  nature, 
was  his  cousin. 

The  strict  devotion  to  his  personal  interests  which 
had  enabled  Mr.  Shackford  to  acquire  a  fortune  thus 
early  caused  him  to  look  askance  at  a  penniless 
young  kinsman  with  stockings  down  at  heel,  and  a 
straw  hat  three  sizes  too  large  for  him  set  on  the 
back  of  his  head.  But  Mr.  Shackford  was  ashamed 
to  leave  little  Dick  a  burden  upon  the  hands  of 
a  poor  woman  of  no  relationship  whatever  to  the 
child ;  so  little  Dick  was  transferred  to  that  tie- 


46  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

jected  house  which  has  already  been  described,  and 
was  then  known  as  the  Sloper  house. 

Here,  for  three  or  four  years,  Dick  grew  up,  as 
neglected  as  a  weed,  and  every  inch  as  happy.  It 
should  be  mentioned  that  for  the  first  year  or  so  a 
shock -headed  Cicely  from  the  town-farm  had  appar- 
ently been  hired  not  to  take  care  of  him.  But 
Dick  asked  nothing  better  than  to  be  left  to  his 
own  devices,  which,  moreover,  were  innocent  enough. 
He  would  sit  all  day  in  the  lane  at  the  front  gate 
pottering  with  a  bit  of  twig  or  a  case-knife  in  the 
soft  clay.  From  time  to  time  passers-by  observed 
that  the  child  was  not  making  mud-pies,  but  trac- 
ing figures,  comic  or  grotesque  as  might  happen, 
and  always  quite  wonderful  for  their  lack  of  resem- 
blance to  anything  human.  That  patch  of  reddish- 
brown  clay  was  his  sole  resource,  his  slate,  his 
drawing-book,  and  woe  to  anybody  who  chanced  to 
walk  over  little  Dick's  arabesques.  Patient  and 
gentle  in  his  acceptance  of  the  world's  rebuffs,  this 
he  would  not  endure.  He  was  afraid  of  Mr.  Shack- 
ford,  yet  one  day,  when  the  preoccupied  man  hap- 
pened to  trample  on  a  newly  executed  hieroglyphic, 
the  child  rose  to  his  feet  white  with  rage,  his  fin- 
gers clenched,  and  such  a  blue  fire  flashing  in  his 
eyes  that  Mr.  Shackford  drew  back  aghast. 
"Why,  it's  a  little  devill" 


THE  ST1LLWATER  TRAGEDY.  47 

While  Shackford  junior  was  amusing  himself 
with  his  primitive  bas-reliefs,  Shackford  senior 
amused  himself  with  his  lawsuits.  From  the  hour 
when  he  returned  to  the  town  until  the  end  of  his 
days  Mr.  Shackford  was  up  to  his  neck  in  legal  dif- 
ficulties. Now  he  resisted  a  betterment  assessment, 
and  fought  the  town  ;  now  he  secured  an  injunc- 
tion on  the  Miantowona  Iron  Works,  and  fought 
the  corporation.  He  was  understood  to  have  a  per- 
petual case  in  equity  before  the  Marine  Court  in 
New  York,  to  which  city  lie  made  frequent  and 
uiKiunounced  journeys.  His  immediate  neighbors 
stood  in  terror  of  him.  He  was  like  a  duelist,  on 
the  alert  to  twist  the  slightest  thing  into  a  casus 
belli.  The  law  was  his  rapier,  his  recreation,  and 
IH  willing  to  bleed  for  it. 

Meanwhile  that  fairy  world  of  which  every  baby 
becomes  a  Columbus  so  soon  as  it  is  able  to  walk 
ned  an  undiscovered  continent  to  little  Dick. 
Grim  life  looked  in  upon  him  as  he  lay  in  the  cra- 
dle. The  common  joys  of  childhood  were  a  sealed 
volume  to  him.  A  single  incident  of  those  years 
lights  up  the  whole  situation.  A  vague  rumor  had 
been  blown  to  Dick  of  a  practice  of  hanging  up 
ings  at  Christmas.  It  struck  his  materialistic 
mind  as  rather  a  senseless  thing  to  do  ;  but  never- 
theless he  resolved  to  try  it  one  Christmas  Eve.  He 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

lay  awake  a  long  while  in  the  frosty  darkness,  skep- 
tically waiting  for  something   remarkable  to  hap- 
pen ;  once  he  crawled  out  of  the  cot-bed  and  groped 
his  way  to  the  chimney  place.     The  next  morning 
he  was  scarcely  disappointed  at  finding  nothing  in 
the  piteous  little  stocking,  except  the  original  holes. 
The  years  that  stole  silently  over  the  heads  of 
the  old  man  and  the  young  child  in  Welch's  Court 
brought  a  period  of  wild  prosperity  to  Stilhvater. 
The  breath  of  war  blew  the  forges  to  a  white  heat, 
and  the  baffling  problem  of  the  mediaeval  alchemists' 
was   solved.     The  baser  metals    were   transmuted 
into  gold.     A  disastrous,  prosperous  time,  with  the 
air  rent  periodically  by  the   cries  of  newsboys  a* 
battles  were  fought,  and  by  the  roll  of  the  drum  in 
the   busy  streets   as   fresh   recruits   were    wanted. 
Glory  and   death  to    the   Southward,  and  at  the 
North  pale  women  in  black. 

All  which  interested  Dick  mighty  little.  After 
he  had  learned  to  read  at  the  district  school,  he  es- 
caped into  another  world.  Two  lights  were  now 
generally  seen  burning  of  a  night  in  the  Shackford 
house:  one  on  the  ground-floor  where  Mr.  Shack- 
ford  sat  mouthing  his  contracts  and  mortgages, 
1  weaving  his  webs  like  a  great,  lean,  gray 
spider;  and  the  other  in  the  north  gable,  where 
hung  over  a  tattered  copy  of  Robinson 


THE  STILLWATER  TRAGEDY.  49 

Crusoe  by  the  flicker  of  the  candle-ends  which  he 
had  captured  during  the  day. 

Little  Dick  was  little  Dick  no  more :  a  tall, 
heavily  built  blond  boy,  with  a  quiet,  sweet  dis- 
position, that  at  first  offered  temptations  to  the 
despots  of  the  playground  ;  but  a  sudden  flaring  up 
once  or  twice  of  that  unexpected  spirit  which  had 
broken  out  in  his  babyhood  brought  him  immunity 
from  serious  persecution. 

The  boy's  home  life  at  this  time  would  have 
seemed  pathetic  to  an  observer,  —  the  more  pathetic, 
perhaps,  in  that  Dick  himself  was  not  aware  of  its 
exceptional  barrenness.  The  holidays  that  bring 
new  brightness  to  the  eyes  of  happier  children 
were  to  him  simply  days  when  he  did  not  go 
to  school,  and  was  expected  to  provide  an  extra 
quantity  of  kindling  wood.  He  was  housed,  and 
fed,  and  clothed,  after  a  fashion,  but  not  loved. 
Mr.  Sha^kford  did  not  ill-treat  the  lad,  in  the  sense 
of  beating  him  ;  he  merely  neglected  him.  Every 
year  the  man  became  more  absorbed  in  his  law 
cases  and  his  money,  which  accumulated  magically. 
He  dwelt  in  a  cloud  of  calculations.  Though  all 
his  interests  attached  him  to  the  material  world, 
his  dry,  attenuated  body  seemed  scarcely  a  part 
of  it. 

4 


50  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  Shackford,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  that 
scapegrace  of  yours  ?  " 

It  was  Mr.  Leonard  Tappleton  who  ventured  the 
question.  Few  persons  dared  to  interrogate  Mr. 
Shackford  on  his  private  affairs. 

"  I  ain  going  to  make  a  lawyer  of  him,"  said  Mr. 
Shackford,  crackling  his  finger-joints  like  stiff 
parchment. 

"  You  could  u'  do  better.  You  ought  to  have  an 
attorney  in  the  family." 

"  Just  so,"  assented  Mr.  Shackford,  dryly.  "  I 
could  throw  a  bit  of  business  in  his  way  now  and 
then,  —  eh  ?  " 

"You  could  make  his  fortune,  Shackford.  I 
don't  see  but  you  might  employ  him  all  the  time. 
When  he  was  not  fighting  the  corporations,  you 
might  keep  him  at  it  suing  you  for  his  fees." 

"  Very  good,  very  good  indeed,"  responded  Mr. 
Shackford,  with  a  smile  in  which  his  eyes  took  no 
share,  it  was  merely  a  momentary  curling  up  of 
crisp  wrinkles.  He  did  not  usually  smile  at  other 
people's  pleasantries ;  but  when  a  person  worth 
three  or  four  hundred  thousand  dollars  condescends 
to  indulge  a  joke,  it  is  not  to  be  passed  over  like 
that  of  a  poor  relation.  "  Yes,  yes,"  muttered  the 
old  man,  as  he  stooped  and  picked  up  a  pin,  add- 
ing it  to  a  row  of  similarly  acquired  pins  which 


THE  STILLWATEB  TRAGEDY.  61 

gave  .the  left  lapel  of  his  threadbare  coat  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  miniature  harp,  "  I  shall  make  a 
lawyer  of  him." 

It  had  long  been  settled  in  Mr.  Shackford's  mind 
that  Richard,  so  soon  as  he  had  finished  his  studies, 
should  enter  the  law-office  of  Brandmann  &  Sharpe, 
a  firm  of  rather  sinister  reputation  in  South  Mill- 
ville. 

At  fourteen  Richard's  eyes  had  begun  to  open  on 
the  situation  ;  at  fifteen  he  saw  very  clearly  ;  and 
one  day,  without  much  preliminary  formulating  of 
his  plan,  he  decided  on  a  step  that  had  been  taken 
by  every  male  Shackford  as  far  back  as  tradition 
preserves  the  record  of  the  family. 

A  friendship  had  sprung  up  between  Richard 
and  one  William  Durgin,  a  school-mate.  This 
Durgin  was  a  sallow,  brooding  boy,  a  year  older 
than  himself.  The  two  lads  were  antipodal  in 
disposition,  intelligence,  and  social  standing ;  for 
though  Richard  went  poorly  clad,  the  reflection  of 
his  cousin's  wealth  gilded  him.  Durgin  was  the 
son  of  a  washerwoman.  An  intimacy  between  the 
two  would  perhaps  have  been  unlikely  but  for  one 
fact :  it  was  Durgin's  mother  who  had  given  little 
Dick  a  shelter  at  the  period  of  his  parents'  death. 
Though  the  circumstance  did  not  lie  within  the 
pale  of  Richard's  personal  memory,  he  acknowl- 


52  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

edged  the  debt  by  rather  insisting  on  Durgin's 
friendship.  It  was  William  Durgin,  therefore, 
who  was  elected  to  wait  upon  Mr.  Shackford  on 
a  certain  morning  which  found  that  gentleman 
greatly  disturbed  by  an  unprecedented  occurrence, 
—  Richard  had  slept  out  of  the  house  the  previous 
night. 

Durgin  was  the  bearer  of  a  note  which  Mr. 
Shackford  received  in  some  astonishment,  and  read 
deliberately,  blinking  with  weak  eyes  behind  his 
glasses.  Having  torn  off  the  blank  page  and  laid 
it  aside  for  his  own  more  economical  correspond- 
ence (the  rascal  had  actually  used  a  whole  sheet  to 
write  ten  words !),  Mr.  Shackford  turned,  and  with 
the  absorbed  air  of  a  naturalist  studying  some  ab- 
normal bug  gazed  over  the  steel  bow  of  his  specta- 
cles at  Durgin. 

"  Skit !  " 

Durgin  hastily  retreated. 

"There's  a  poor  lawyer  saved,"  muttered  the 
old  man,  taking  down  his  overcoat  from  a  peg  be- 
hind the  door,  and  snapping  off  a  shred  of  lint  on 
the  collar  with  his  lean  forefinger.  Then  his  face 
relaxed,  and  an  odd  grin  diffused  a  kind  of  wintry 
glow  over  it. 

Richard  had  run  away  to  sea. 


VI. 


AFTER  a  lapse  of  four  years,  during  which  he 
had  as  completely  vanished  out  of  the  memory  of 
Stillwater  as  if  he  had  been  lying  all  the  while  in 
the  crowded  family  tomb  behind  the  South  Church, 
Richard  Shackford  reappeared  one  summer  morn- 
ing at  the  door  of  his  cousin's  house  in  Welch's 
Court.  Mr.  Shackford  was  absent  at  the  moment, 
and  Mrs.  Morganson,  an  elderly  deaf  woman,  who 
came  in  for  a  few  hours  every  day  to  do  the  house- 
work, was  busy  in  the  extension.  Without  an- 
nouncing himself,  Richard  stalked  up-stairs  to  the 
chamber  in  the  gable,  and  went  directly  to  a  little 
shelf  in  one  corner,  upon  which  lay  the  dog's-eared 
copy  of  Robinson  Crusoe  just  as  he  had  left  it,  save 
the  four  years'  accumulation  of  dust.  Richard  took 
the  book  fiercely  in  both  hands,  and  with  a  single 
mighty  tug  tore  it  from  top  to  bottom,  and  threw 
the  fragments  into  the  fire-place. 

A  moment  later,  on  the  way  down-stairs,  he  en- 
countered his  kinsman  ascending. 

"  Ah,  you  have  come  back  !  "  was  Mr.  Shuck- 
ford's  grim  greeting  after  a  second's  hesitation. 


54  THE   STILLWATER  TRAGEDY. 

"  Yes,"  said  Richard,  with  embarrassment,  though 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  not  to  be  embarrassed  by 
his  cousin. 

"  I  can't  say  I  was  looking  for  you.  You  might 
have  dropped  me  a  line;  you  were  politer  when  you 
left.  Why  do  you  come  back,  and  why  did  you  go 
away  ?  "  demanded  the  old  man,  with  abrupt  fierce- 
ness. The  last  four  years  had  bleached  him  and 
bent  him  and  made  him  look  very  old. 

"I  did  n't  like  the  idea  of  Blandmann  &  Sharpe, 
for  one  thing,"  said  Richard,  uand  I  thought  I 
liked  the  sea." 

"And  did  you?" 

"  No,  sir  !  I  enjoyed  seeing  foreign  parts,  and 
all  that." 

"  Quite  the  young  gentleman  on  his  travels.  But 
the  sea  did  n't  agree  with  you,  and  now  you  like 
the  idea  of  Blandmann  &  Sharpe  ?  " 

"Not  the  least  in  the  world,  I  assure  you!" 
cried  Richard.  "I  take  to  it  as  little  as  ever  I 
did." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  fortunate.  But  it 's  going  to 
be  rather  difficult  to  suit  your  tastes.  What  do 
you  like  ?  " 

"  I  like  you,  cousin  Lemuel ;  you  have  always 
been  kind  to  me  — in  your  way,"  said  poor  Rich- 
ard, yearning  for  a  glimmer  of  human  warmth  and 


THE  STILLWATEB  TRAGEDY.  55 

sympathy,  and  forgetting  all  the  dreariness  of  his 
uncared-for  childhood.  He  had  been  out  in  the 
world,  and  had  found  it  even  harder-hearted  than 
his  own  home,  which  now  he  idealized  in  the  first 
flush  of  returning  to  it.  Again  he  saw  himself,  a 
blond-headed  little  fellow  with  stocking  down  at 
heel,  climbing  the  steep  staircase,  or  digging  in  the 
clay  at  the  front  gate  with  the  air  full  of  the  breath 
of  lilacs.  That  same  penetrating  perfume,  blown 
through  the  open  hall -door  as  he  spoke,  nearly 
brought  the  tears  to  his  eyes.  He  had  looked  for- 
ward for  years  to  this  coming  back  to  Stiliwater. 
Many  a  time,  as  he  wandered  along  the  streets  of 
some  foreign  sea-port,  the  rich  architecture  and  the 
bright  costumes  had  faded  out  before  him,  and 
given  place  to  the  fat  gray  belfrey  and  slim  red 
chimneys  of  the  humble  New  England  village  where 
he  was  born.  He  had  learned  to  love  it  after  los- 
ing it;  and  now  he  had  struggled  back  through 
countless  trials  and  disasters  to  find  no  welcome. 

"  Cousin  Lemuel,"  said  Richard  gently,  '•  only 
just  us  two  are  left,  and  we  ought  to  be  good 
friends,  at  least." 

"  We  are  good  enough  friends,"  mumbled  Mr. 
Shackford,  who  could  not  evade  taking  the  hand 
which  Richard  had  forlornly  reached  out  to  him, 
4  but  that  need  n't  prevent  us  understanding  each 


56  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

other  like  rational  creatures.  I  don't  care  for  a 
great  deal  of  fine  sentiment  in  people  who  run 
away  without  saying  so  much  as  thank  'e." 

"  I  was  all  wrong  !  " 

"  That's  what  folks  always  say,  with  the  delu- 
sion that  it  makes  everything  all  right." 

"Surely  it  helps,  — to  admit  it." 

"  That  depends  ;  it  generally  does  n't.  What 
do  yon  propose  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  know  at  the  moment ;  my  plans  are 
quite  in  the  air." 

"In  the  air !"  repeated  Mr.  Shackford.  "I  fancy 
that  describes  them.  Your  father's  plans  were 
always  in  the  air,  too,  and  he  never  got  any  of 
them  down." 

"  I  intend  to  get  mine  down." 

"  Have  you  saved  by  anything  ?  " 

"  Not  a  cent." 

"  I  thought  as  much." 

"  I  had  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars  in  my  sea- 
chest  ;  but  I  was  shipwrecked,  and  lost  it.  I  barely 
saved  myself.  When  Robinson  Crusoe  "  — 

"  Damn  Robinson  Crusoe !  "  snapped  Mr.  Shack- 
ford. 

"  That 's  what  I  say,"  returned  Richard  gravely. 
**  When  Robinson  Crusoe  was  cast  on  an  uninhab- 
ited island,  shrimps  and  soft-shell  crabs  and  all 


THE  STILLWATEB  TRAGEDY.  57 

sorts  of  delicious  mollusks —  ready  boiled,  I  've  no 
doubt  —  crawled  up  the  beach,  and  bogged  him  to 
eat  them  ;  but  /  nearly  starved  to  death." 

"  Of  course.  You  will  always  be  shipwrecked, 
and  always  be  starved  to  death;  you  are  one  of 
that  kind.  I  don't  believe  you  are  a  Shackford  at 
all.  When  they  were  not  anything  else  they  were 
good  sailors.  If  you  only  had  a  drop  of  his  blood 
in  your  veins ! "  and  Mr.  Shackford  waved  his 
hand  towards  a  faded  portrait  of  a  youngish,  florid 
gentleman  with  banged  hair  and  high  coat-collar, 
which  hung  against  the  wall  half-way  up  the  stair- 
case. This  was  the  counterfeit  presentment  of 
Lemuel  Shackford's  father  seated  with  his  back  at 
an  open  window,  through  which  was  seen  a  ship 
under  full  canvas  with  the  union-jack  standing  out 
straight  in  the  wrong  direction.  "  But  what  are 
you  going  to  do  for  yourself  ?  You  can't  start  a 
subscription  paper,  and  play  the  shipwrecked  mar- 
iner, you  know." 

"  No,  I  hardly  care  to  do  that,"  said  Richard, 
with  a  good-natured  laugh,  "  though  no  poor  devil 
ever  had  a  better  outfit  for  the  character." 

44  What  are  you  calculated  for  ?  " 

Richard  was  painfully  conscious  of  his  unfitness 
for  many  things ;  but  he  felt  there  was  nothing  in 
life  to  which  he  was  so  ill  adapted  as  his  present 


58  THE   STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY. 

position.  Yet,  until  he  could  look  about  him,  he 
must  needs  eat  his  kinsman's  reluctant  bread,  or 
starve.  The  world  was  younger  and  more  unso- 
phisticated when  manna  dropped  from  the  clouds. 

Mr.  Shackford  stood  with  his  neck  craned  over 
the  frayed  edge  of  his  satin  stock  and  one  hand 
resting  indecisively  on  the  banister,  and  Richard 
on  the  step  above,  leaning  his  back  against  the 
blighted  flowers  of  the  wall-paper.  From  an  oval 
window  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  the  summer  sun- 
shine streamed  upon  them,  and  illuminated  the 
high-shouldered  clock  which,  ensconced  in  an  al- 
cove, seemed  to  be  listening  to  the  conversation. 

"  There 's  no  chance  for  you  in  the  law,"  said  Mr. 
Shackford,  after  a  long  pause.  "  Sharpe's  nephew 
has  the  berth.  A  while  ago  I  might  have  got  you 
into  the  Miantowona  Iron  Works ;  but  the  rascally 
directors  are  trying  to  ruin  me  now.  There  's  the 
Union  Store,  if  they  happen  to  want  a  clerk.  I 
suppose  you  would  be  about  as  handy  behind  a 
counter  as  a  hippopotamus.  I  have  no  business  of 
my  own  to  train  you  to.  You  are  not  good  for  the 
sea,  and  the  sea  has  probably  spoiled  you  for  any- 
thing else.  A  drop  of  salt  water  just  poisons  a 
landsman.  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with 
you." 

"Don't  bother  yourself  about  it  at  all,"  said 


THE  STILLWATEB  TBAGEDY.  59 

Richard,  cheerfully.  "  You  are  going  back  on  the 
whole  family,  ancestors  and  posterity,  by  suggest- 
ing that  I  can't  make  my  own  living.  I  only  want 
a  little  time  to  take  breath,  don't  you  see,  and  a 
crust  and  a  bed  for  a  few  days,  such  as  you  might 
give  any  wayfarer.  Meanwhile,  I  will  look  after 
things  around  the  place.  I  fancy  I  was  never  an 
idler  here  since  the  day  I  learnt  to  split  kindling." 

"There's  your  old  bed  in  the  north  chamber," 
said  Mr.  Shackford,  wrinkling  his  forehead  help- 
lessly. "  According  to  my  notion,  it  is  not  so  good 
as  a  bunk,  or  a  hammock  slung  in  a  tidy  forecastle, 
but  it 's  at  your  service,  and  Mrs.  Morganson,  I 
dare  say,  can  lay  an  extra  plate  at  table." 

With  which  gracious  acceptance  of  Richard's 
proposition,  Mr.  Shackford  resumed  his  way  up- 
stairs, and  the  young  man  thoughtfully  descended, 
to  the  hall-door  and  thence  into  the  street,  to  take 
a  general  survey  of  the  commercial  capabilities  of 
Still  water. 

The  outlook  was  not  inspiring.  A  machinist,  or 
a  mechanic,  or  a  day  laborer  might  have  found  a 
foot-hold.  A  man  without  handicraft  was  not  in 
request  in  Stillwater.  "  What  is  your  trade  ?  "  was 
the  staggering  question  that  met  Richard  at  the 
threshold.  He  went  from  workshop  to  workshop, 
confidently  and  cheerfully  at  first,  whistling  softly 


60  THE  STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

between  whiles;  but  at  every  turn  the  question 
confronted  him.  In  some  places,  where  he  was  rec- 
ognized with  thinly  veiled  surprise  as  that  boy  of 
Shackford's,  he  was  kindly  put  off  ;  in  others  he  re- 
ceived only  a  stare  or  a  brutal  No. 

By  noon  he  had  exhausted  the  leading  shops  and 
offices  in  the  village,  and  was  so  disheartened  that 
he  began  to  dread  the  thought  of  returning  home 
to  dinner.  Clearly,  he  was  a  superfluous  person  in 
Stillwater.  A  mortar-splashed  hod-carrier,  who  had 
seated  himself  on  a  pile  of  brick  and  was  eating  his 
noonday  rations  from  a  tin  can  just  brought  to  him 
by  a  slatternly  girl,  gave  Richard  a  spasui  of  envy. 
Here  was  a  man  who  had  found  his  place,  and  was 
establishing  —  what  Richard  did  not  seem  able  to 
establish  in  his  own  case  —  a  right  to  exist. 

At  supper  Mr.  Shackford  refrained  from  examin- 
ing Richard  on  his  day's  employment,  for  which  re- 
serve, or  indifference,  the  boy  was  grateful.  When 
the  silent  meal  was  over  the  old  man  went  to  his 
papers,  and  Richard  withdrew  to  his  room  in  the 
gable.  He  had  neglected  to  provide  himself  with 
a  candle.  However,  there  was  nothing  to  read,  for 
in  destroying  Robinson  Crusoe  he  had  destroyed 
his  entire  library  ;  so  he  sat  and  brooded  in  the 
moonlight,  casting  a  look  of  disgust  now  and  then 
at  the  mutilated  volume  on  the  hearth.  That  lying 


THE  STILLWATEB  TRAGEDY.  61 

romance  !  It  had  been,  indirectly,  the  cause  of  all 
his  woe,  filling  his  boyish  brain  with  visions  of 
picturesque  adventure,  and  sending  him  off  to  sea, 
where  he  had  lost  four  precious  yean  of  his  life. 

"If  I  had  stuck  to  my  studies,"  reflected  Richard 
while  undressing,  "  I  might  have  made  something 
of  myself.  He  's  a  great  fraud,  Robinson  Crusoe." 

Richard  fell  asleep  with  as  much  bitterness  in 
his  bosom  against  DeFoe's  ingenious  hero  as  if  Rob- 
inson had  been  a  living  person  instead  of  a  living 
fiction,  and  out  of  this  animosity  grew  a  dream  so 
fantastic  and  comical  that  Richard  awoke  himself 
•with  a  bewildered  laugh  just  as  the  sunrise  red- 
dened the  panes  of  his  chamber  window.  In  this 
dream  somebody  came  to  Richard  and  asked  him  if 
he  had  heard  of  that  dreadful  thing  about  young 
Crusoe. 

"  No,  confound  him  ! "  said  Richard,  "  what  is 
it?" 

"  It  has  been  ascertained,"  said  somebody,  who 
seemed  to  Richard  at  once  an  intimate  friend  and 
an  utter  stranger,  —  "  it  has  been  ascertained  be- 
yond a  doubt  that  the  man  Friday  was  not  a  man 
Friday  at  all,  but  a  light-minded  young  princess 
from  one  of  the  neighboring  islands  who  had  fallen 
in  luve  with  Robinson.  Her  real  name  was  Satur- 
day." 


62  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  Why,  that 's  scandalous  !  "  cried  Richard  with 
heat.  "  Think  of  the  admiration  and  sympathy  the 
world  has  been  lavishing  on  this  precious  pair  ! 
Robinson  Crusoe  and  his  girl  Saturday  !  That  puts 
a  different  face  on  it." 

"  Another  great  moral  character  exploded,"  mur- 
mured the  shadowy  shape,  mixing  itself  up  with  the 
motes  of  a  sunbeam  and  drifting  out  through  the 
window.  Then  Richard  fell  to  laughing  in  his 
sleep,  and  so  awoke.  He  was  still  confused  with 
the  dream  as  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  pulling 
himself  together  in  the  broad  daylight. 

"  Well,"  he  muttered  at  length,  "  I  should  n't 
wonder  !  There 's  nothing  too  bad  to  be  believed 
of  that  man." 


VII. 

RICHARD  made  an  early  start  that  morning  in 
search  of  employment,  and  duplicated  the  failure  of 
the  previous  day.  Nobody  wanted  him.  If  nobody 
wanted  him  in  the  village  where  he  was  born  and 
bred,  a  village  of  counting-rooms  and  workshops, 
was  any  other  place  likely  to  need  him?  He  had 
only  one  hope,  if  it  could  be  called  a  hope  ;  at  any 
rate,  he  had  treated  it  tenderly  as  such  and  kept  it 
for  the  last.  He  would  apply  to  Rowland  Slocura. 
Long  ago,  when  Richard  was  an  urchin  making 
pot-hooks  in  the  lane,  the  man  used  occasionally  to 
pat  him  on  the  head  and  give  him  pennies.  This 
was  not  a  foundation  on  which  to  rear  a  very  lofty 
castle ;  but  this  was  all  he  had. 

It  was  noon  when  Richard  approached  the  mar- 
ble yard,  and  the  men  were  pouring  out  into  the 
street  through  the  wide  gate  in  the  rough  deal 
fence  which  inclosed  the  works,  —  heavy,  brawny 
men,  covered  with  fine  white  dust,  who  shouldered 
each  other  like  cattle,  and  took  the  sidewalk  to 
themselves.  Richard  stepped  aside  to  let  them 


64  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

pass,   eying  them  curiously  as   possible   comrades. 
Suddenly  a  slim  dark  fellow,  who  had  retained  his 
paper  cap  and   leather  apron,   halted  and    thrust 
forth  a  Jiorny  hand.     The  others  went  on. 
"  Hullo,  Dick  Shackford  !  " 
"  What,  is  that  you,  Will  ?     You  here  ?  " 
"  Been  here  two  years  now.      One  of  Slocum's 
apprentices,"  added   Durgin,  with  an   air  of  easy 
grandeur. 

"  Two  years  ?  How  time  flies  —  when  it  does  n't 
crawl !  Do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  My  time  will  be  out  next  —  Oh,  the  work  ? 
Well,  yes ;  it 's  not  bad,  and  there  's  a  jolly  set  in 
the  yard.  But  how  about  you  ?  I  heard  last  night 
you  'd  got  home.  Been  everywhere  and  come  back 
wealthy  ?  The  boys  used  to  say  you  was  off  pirat- 
ing." 

"  No  such  luck,"  answered  Richard,  with  a  smile. 
"I  didn't  prey  on  the  high  seas, — quite  the  con- 
trary. The  high  sea  captured  my  kit  and  four 
years'  savings.  I  will  tell  you  about  it  some  day. 
If  I  have  a  limb  to  my  name  and  a  breath  left  in 
my  body,  it  is  no  thanks  to  the  Indian  Ocean. 
That  is  all  I  have  got,  Will,  and  I  am  looking 
around  for  bread  and  butter,  —  literally  bread  and 
butter." 

"  No  ?  and  the  old  gentleman  so  rich  I  " 


THE  STILLWATER  TRAGEDY.  65 

Dilrgin  said  this  with  sincere  indignation,  and 
was  perhaps  unconscious  himself  of  experiencing 
that  nameless,  shadowy  satisfaction  which  Roche- 
foucauld says  we  find  in  the  adversity  of  our  best 
friends.  Certainly  Richard  looked  very  seedy  in 
his  suit  of  slop-shop  clothes. 

"I  was  on  my  way  to  Mr.  Slocum's  to  see 
if  I  could  do  anything  with  him,"  Richard  con- 
tinued. 

"  To  get  a  job,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  get  work,  —  to  learn  how  to  work  ;  to 
master  a  trade,  in  short/' 

"You  can't  be  an  apprentice,  you  know,"  said 
Durgin. 

"Why  not?" 

"  Slocura  has  two." 

"Suppose  he  should  happen  to  want  another? 
He  might." 

"  The  Association  would  n't  allow  it." 

"  What  association  ?  " 

"  The  Marble  Workers'  Association,  of  course." 

"  They  would  n't  allow  it !     How  is  that  ?  " 

"  This  the  way  of  it.  Slocura  is  free  to  take  on 
two  apprentices  every  year,  but  no  more.  That 
prevents  workmen  increasing  too  fast,  and  so  keeps 
up  wages.  The  Marble  Workers'  Association  is  a 
very  neat  thing,  I  can  tell  you." 
5 


66  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  But  does  n't  Mr.  Slocum  own  the  yard  ?  I 
thought  he  did." 

"  Yes,  he  owns  the  yard." 

"  If  he  wished  to  extend  the  business,  could  n't 
he  employ  more  hands  ?  " 

"As  many  as  he  could  get,  —  skilled  workmen  ; 
but  not  apprentices." 

"And  Mr.  Slocum  agrees  to  that?"  inquired 
Richard. 

«  He  does." 

"And  likes  it?" 

"  Not  he,  —  he  hates  it ;  but  he  can't  help  him- 
self." 

"Upon  my  soul,  I  don't  see  what  prevents  him 
taking  on  as  many  apprentices  as  he  wants  to." 

"Why,  the  Association,  to  be  sure,"  returned 
Durgin,  glancing  at  the  town  clock,  which  marked 
seven  minutes  past  the  hour. 

"  But  how  could  they  stop  him  ?  " 

"  In  plenty  of  ways.  Suppose  Slocum  has  a  lot 
of  unfinished  contracts  on  hand,  —  he  always  has 
fat  contracts,  —  and  the  men  was  to  knock  off  work. 
That  would  be  kind  of  awkward,  would  n't  it?  " 

"  For  a  day  or  two,  yes.  He  could  send  out  of 
town  for  hands,"  suggested  Richard. 

"  And  they  would  n't  come,  if  the  Association 
said  '  Stay  where  you  are.'  They  are  mostly  in  the 
ring.  Some  outsiders  might  come,  though." 


THE  STILLWATEB  TRAGEDY.  67 

"Then  what?" 

"  Why,  then  the  boys  would  make  it  pretty  hot 
for  them  in  Stillwater.  Don't  you  notice  ?  " 

"  I  notice  there  is  not  much  chance  for  me,"  said 
Richard,  despondingly.  "  Is  n't  that  so  ?  " 

"Can't  say.  Better  talk  with  Slocum.  But  I 
must  get  along ;  I  have  to  be  back  sharp  at  one.  I 
want  to  hear  about  your  knocking  around  the  worst 
kind.  Can't  we  meet  somewhere  to-night,  —  at  the 
tavern  ?" 

"  The  tavern  ?  That  did  n't  use  to  be  a  quiet 
place." 

u  It  is  n't  quiet  now,  but  there  's  nowhere  else  to 
go  of  a  night.  It 's  a  comfortable  den,  and  there  's 
always  some  capital  fellows  dropping  in.  A  glass 
of  lager  with  a  mate  is  not  a  bad  thing  after  a  hard 
day's  work." 

"  Both  are  good  things  when  they  are  of  the  right 
sort." 

"  That 's  like  saying  I  'm  not  the  right  sort,  is  n't 
it?" 

"  I  meant  nothing  of  the  kind.  But  I  don't  take 
to  the  tavern.  Not  that  I  'm  squeamish  ;  I  have 
lived  four  years  among  sailors,  and  have  been  in 
rougher  places  than  you  ever  dreamed  of ;  but  all 
the  same  I  am  afraid  of  the  tavern.  I  've  seen 
many  a  brave  fellow  wrecked  on  that  reef." 


68  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  You  always  was  a  bit  stuck  up,"  said  Durgin 
candidly. 

"  Not  an  inch.  I  never  had  much  reason  to  be  ; 
and  less  now  than  ever,  when  I  can  scarcely  afford 
to  drink  water,  let  alone  beer.  I  will  drop  round 
to  your  mother's  some  evening,  —  I  hope  she  's 
well,  —  and  tell  you  of  my  ups  and  downs.  That 
will  be  pleasanter  for  all  hands." 

"  Oh,  as  you  like." 

"Now  for  Mr.  Slocum,  though  you  have  taken 
the  wind  out  of  me." 

The  two  separated,  Durgin  with  a  half  smile  on 
his  lip,  and  Richard  in  a  melancholy  frame  of  mind. 
He  passed  from  the  grass-fringed  street  into  the  de 
serted  marble  yard,  where  it  seemed  as  if  the  green 
summer  had  suddenly  turned  into  white  winter,  and 
threading  his  way  between  the  huge  drifts  of  snowy 
stone,  knocked  at  the  door  of  Mr.  S locum 's  private 
office. 

William  Durgin  had  summed  up  the  case  fairly 
enough  as  it  stood  between  the  Marble  Workers' 
Association  and  Rowland  Slocum.  The  system  of 
this  branch  of  the  trades-union  kept  trained  work- 
men comparatively  scarce,  and  enabled  them  to 
command  regular  and  even  advanced  prices  at  pe- 
riods when  other  trades  were  depressed.  The  older 
hands  looked  upon  a  fresh  apprentice  in  the  yard 


THE  STILLWATER  TRAGEDY.  69 

with  much  the  same  favor  as  workingmen  of  the 
era  of  Jacquard  looked  upon  the  introduction  of  a 
new  piece  of  machinery.  Unless  the  apprentice  had 
exceptional  tact,  he  underwent  a  rough  novitiate. 
In  any  case,  he  served  a  term  of  social  ostracism 
before  he  was  admitted  to  full  con»/adeship.  Mr. 
Slocum  could  easily  have  found  openings  each  year 
for  a  dozen  learners,  had  the  matter  been  under  his 
control ;  but  it  was  not.  "  I  am  the  master  of  each 
man  individually,"  he  declared,  "but  collectively 
they  are  my  master."  So  his  business,  instead  of 
naturally  spreading  and  becoming  a  benefit  to  the 
many,  was  kept  carefully  pruned  down  for  the  ben- 
efit of  the  few.  He  was  often  forced  to  decline  im- 
portant contracts,  the  filling  of  which  would  have 
resulted  to  the  advantage  of  every  person  in  the 
village. 

Mr.  Slocum  recognized  Richard  at  once,  and  list- 
ened kindly  to  his  story.  It  was  Mr.  Slocum's 
way  to  listen  kindly  to  every  one ;  but  he  was  im- 
pressed with  Richard's  intelligence  and  manner,  and 
became  desirous,  for  several  reasons,  to  assist  him. 
In  the  first  place,  there  was  room  in  the  shops  for 
another  apprentice  ;  experienced  hands  were  on  jobs 
that  could  have  been  as  well  done  by  beginners ; 
and,  in  the  second  place,  Mr.  Slocum  had  an  intui- 
tion that  Lemuel  Shackford  was  not  treating  the 


70  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

lad  fairly,  though  Richard  had  said  nothing  to  this 
effect.  Now,  Mr.  Slocum  and  Mr.  Shackford  were 
just  then  at  swords'  points. 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  could  annoy  Shackford  more," 
was  Mr.  Slocum's  reflection,  "  than  by  doing  some- 
thing for  this  boy,  whom  he  has  always  shamelessly 
neglected." 

The  motive  was  not  a  high  one ;  but  Richard 
would  have  been  well  satisfied  with  it,  if  he  could 
have  divined  it.  He  did  divine  that  Mr.  Slocum 
was  favorably  inclined  towards  him,  and  stood 
watching  that  gentleman's  face  with  hopeful  anx- 
iety. 

"  I  have  my  regulation  number  of  young  men, 
Richard,"  said  Mr.  Slocum,  "  and  there  will  be  no 
vacancy  until  autumn.  If  you  could  wait  a  few 
months." 

Richard's  head  drooped. 

"  Can't  do  that  ?  You  write  a  good  hand,  you 
say.  Perhaps  you  could  assist  the  book-keeper 
until  there  's  a  chance  for  you  in  the  yard." 

"  I  think  I  could,  sir,"  said  Richard  eagerly. 

"  If  you  were  only  a  draughtsman,  now,  I  could 
do  something  much  better  for  you.  I  intend  to  set 
up  a  shop  for  ornamental  carving,  and  I  want  some 
one  to  draw  patterns.  If  you  had  a  knack  at  de- 
signing, if  you  could  draw  at  all  "  — 


THE  STILLWATER  TRAGEDY.  71 

Richard's  face  lighted  up. 

"  Perhaps  you  have  a  turn  that  way.  I  remem- 
ber the  queer  things  you  used  to  scratch  in  the  mud 
in  the  court,  when  you  were  a  little  shaver.  Can 
you  draw  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  is  the  one  thing  I  can  do ! "  cried 
Richard,  —  "in  a  rough  fashion,  of  course,"  he 
added,  fearing  he  bad  overstated  it. 

"  It  is  a  rough  fashion  that  will  serve.  You  must 
let  me  see  some  of  your  sketches." 

"  I  have  n't  any,  sir.  I  had  a  hundred  in  my 
sea-chest,  but  that  was  lost,  —  pencilings  of  old 
archways,  cathedral  spires,  bits  of  frieze,  and  such 
odds  and  ends  as  took  my  fancy  in  the  ports  we 
touched  at.  I  recollect  one  bit.  I  think  I  could 
do  it  for  you  now.  Shall  I  ?  " 

Mr.  Slocum  nodded  assent,  smiling  at  the  young 
fellow's  enthusiasm,  and  only  partially  suspecting 
his  necessity.  Richard  picked  up  a  pen  and  began 
scratching  on  a  letter  sheet  which  lay  on  the  desk. 
He  was  five  or  six  minutes  at  the  work,  during 
which  the  elder  man  watched  him  with  an  amused 
expression. 

"  It  'a  a  section  of  cornice  on  the  facade  of  tlio 
Hindoo  College  at  Calcutta,"  said  Richard,  hand- 
ing him  the  paper,  —  "  no,  it 's  the  custom-house. 
I  forget  which  ;  but  it  does  n't  matter." 


72  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

The  amused  look  gradually  passed  out  of  Mr. 
Slocum's  countenance  as  he  examined  the  sketch. 
It  was  roughly  but  clearly  drawn,  and  full  of  fa- 
cility. "  Why,  that  is  very  clever !  "  he  said,  hold- 
ing it  at  arms'-length ;  and  then,  with  great  gravity, 
"  I  hope  you  are  not  a  genius,  Richard  ;  that  would 
be  too  much  of  a  fine  thing.  If  you  are  not,  you 
uan  be  of  service  to  me  in  my  plans." 

Richard  laughingly  made  haste  to  declare  that 
to  the  best  of  his  knowledge  and  belief  he  was  not 
a  genius,  and  it  was  decided  on  the  spot  that  Rich- 
ard should  assist  Mr.  Simms,  the  bookkeeper,  and 
presently  try  his  hand  at  designing  ornamental  pat- 
terns for  the  carvers,  Mr.  Slocum  allowing  him  ap- 
prentice wages  until  the  quality  of  his  work  should 
be  ascertained. 

"  It  is  very  little,"  said  Mr.  Slocum,  "  but  it  will 
pay  your  board,  if  you  do  not  live  at  home." 

"  I  shall  not  remain  at  my  cousin's,"  Richard 
replied,  "if  you  call  that  home." 

"  I  can  imagine  it  is  not  much  of  a  home.  Your 
cousin,  not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  on  it,  is  a 
wretch." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  say  that,  sir ;  he  's  my 
only  living  kinsman." 

"  You  are  fortunate  in  having  but  one,  then. 
However,  I  am  wrong  to  abuse  him  to  you  ;  but  I 


THE  STILLWATEB  TRAGEDY.  73 

cannot  speak  of  him  with  moderation,  he  has  just 
played  me  such  a  despicable  trick.  Look  here." 

Mr.  Slocum  led  Richard  to  the  door,  and  pointing 
to  a  row  of  new  workshops  which  extended  the 
entire  length  of  one  side  of  the  marble  yard,  said,  — 

"  I  built  these  last  spring.  After  the  shingles 
were  on  we  discovered  that  the  rear  partition,  for  a 
distance  of  seventy-five  feet,  overlapped  two  inches 
on  Shackford's  meadow.  I  was  ready  to  drop  when 
I  saw  it,  your  cousin  is  such  an  unmanageable  old 
fiend.  Of  course  I  went  to  him  immediately,  and 
what  do  you  think  ?  He  demanded  five  hundred 
dollars  for  that  strip  of  land !  Five  hundred  dol- 
lars for  a  few  inches  of  swamp  meadow  not  worth 
ten  dollars  the  acre  I  *  Then  take  your  disreputa- 
ble old  mill  off  my  property  I '  says  Shackford,  — 
he  called  it  a  disreputable  old  mill !  I  was  hasty, 
perhaps,  and  I  told  him  to  go  to  the  devil.  He 
said  he  would,  and  he  did ;  for  he  went  to  Bland- 
mann.  When  the  lawyers  got  hold  of  it,  they 
bothered  the  life  out  of  me ;  so  I  just  moved  the 
building  forward  two  inches,  at  an  expense  of 
seven  hundred  dollars.  Then  what  does  the  demon 
do  but  board  up  all  my  windows  opening  on  the 
meadow !  Richard,  I  make  it  a  condition  that  you 
shall  not  lodge  at  Shackford's." 

"  Nothing  could  induce  me  to  live  another  day  in 


74  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

the  same  house  with  him,  sir,"  answered  Richard, 
suppressing  an  inclination  to  smile  ;  and  then  seri- 
ously, "  His  bread  is  bitter." 

Richard  went  back  with  a  light  heart  to  Welch's 
Court.  At  the  gate  of  the  marble  yard  he  met 
William  Durgin  returning  to  work.  The  steam- 
whistle  had  sounded  the  call,  and  there  was  no 
time  for  exchange  of  words  ;  so  Richard  gave  his 
comrade  a  bright  nod  and  passed  by.  Durgin 
turned  and  stared  after  him. 

"  Looks  as  if  Slocum  had  taken  him  on  ;  but  it 
never  can  be  as  apprentice  ;  he  would  n't  dare  do 
it." 

Mr.  Shackford  had  nearly  finished  his  frugal  din- 
ner when  Richard  entered.  "  If  you  can't  hit  it  to 
be  in  at  your  meals,"  said  Mr.  Shackford,  helping 
himself  absently  to  the  remaining  chop,  "  perhaps 
you  had  better  stop  away  altogether." 

"I  can  do  that  now,  cousin,"  replied  Richard 
sunnily.  "  I  have  engaged  with  Slocura." 

The  old  man  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork. 

"  With  Slocum  !  A  Shackford  a  miserable  mar- 
ble-chipper ! " 

There  was  so  little  hint  of  the  aristocrat  in  Lem- 
uel Shackford's  sordid  life  and  person  that  no  one 
suspected  him  of  even  self-esteem.  He  went  as 
meanly  dressed  as  a  tramp,  and  as  careless  of  con- 


THE   STILLWATEK   TRAGEDY.  75 

temporary  criticism ;  yet  clear  down  in  his  liver,  or 
somewhere  in  his  anatomy,  he  nourished  an  odd 
abstract  pride  in  the  family  Shackford.  Heaven 
knows  why  I  To  be  sure,  it  dated  far  back ;  its 
women  had  always  been  virtuous,  and  its  men,  if 
not  always  virtuous,  had  always  been  ship-captains. 
But  beyond  this  the  family  had  never  amounted  to 
anything,  and  now  there  was  so  very  little  left  of 
it.  For  Richard  as  Richard  Lemuel  cared  nothing ; 
for  Richard  as  a  Shackford  he  had  a  chaotic  feeling 
that  defied  analysis  and  had  never  before  risen  to 
the  surface.  It  was  therefore  with  a  disgust  en- 
tirely apart  from  hatred  of  Slocum  or  regard  for 
Richard  that  the  old  man  exclaimed,  "A  Shack- 
ford a  miserable  marble-chipper  I " 

"  That  is  better  than  hanging  around  the  village 
with  my  hands  in  my  pockets.  Is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  anybody  has  demanded  that 
you  should  hang  around  the  village." 

"  I  ought  to  go  away,  you  mean  ?  But  I  have 
found  work  here,  and  I  might  not  find  it  else- 
where." 

"  Stillwater  is  not  the  place  to  begin  life  in.  It  'a 
the  place  to  go  away  from,  and  come  back  to.'* 

-  Well,  I  have  come  back." 

"  And  how  ?  With  one  shirt  and  a  lot  of  bad 
sailor  habits." 


76  THE   STILLWATER  TRAGEDY. 

"  My  one  shirt  is  my  only  very  bad  habit,"  said 
Richard,  with  a  laugh,  —  he  could  laugh  now,  — 
"  and  I  mean  to  get  rid  of  that." 

Mr.  Shackford  snapped  his  fingers  disdainfully. 

"  You  ought  to  have  stuck  to  the  sea  ;  that 's  re- 
spectable. In  ten  years  you  might  have  risen  to  be 
master  of  a  bark ;  that  would  have  been  honorable. 
You  might  have  gone  down  in  a  gale,  —  you  prob- 
ably would,  —  and  that  would  have  been  fortunate. 
But  a  stone-cutter  !  You  can  understand,"  growled 
Mr.  Shackford,  reaching  out  for  his  straw  hat, 
which  he  put  on  and  crushed  over  his  brows,  "  I 
don't  keep  a  boarding-house  for  Slocum's  hands." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  far  from  asking  it  ! "  cried  Richard. 
"  I  am  thankful  for  the  two  nights'  shelter  I  have 
had." 

"  That 's  some  of  your  sarcasm,  I  suppose,"  said 
Mr.  Shackford,  half  turning,  with  his  hand  on  the 
door-knob. 

"  No,  it  is  some  of  my  sincerity.  I  am  really 
obliged  to  you.  You  were  n't  very  cordial,  to  be 
sure,  but  I  did  not  deserve  cordiality." 

"  You  have  figured  that  out  correctly." 

"  I  want  to  begin  over  again,  you  see,  and  start 
fair." 

"Then  begin  by  dropping  Slocum." 

"  You  have  not  given  me  a  chance  to  tell  you 


THE  STILLWATER  TRAGEDY.  77 

what  the  arrangement  is.  However,  it  'a  irrevoca- 
ble." 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear.  I  don't  care  a  curse,  so 
long  as  it  is  an  arrangement,"  and  Mr.  Shackford 
hurried  out  of  the  room,  slamming  the  door  behind 
him. 

Then  Richard,  quite  undisturbed  by  his  cousin's 
unreasonableness,  sat  himself  down  to  eat  the  last 
meal  he  was  ever  to  eat  under  that  roof,  —  a  feat 
which  his  cousin's  appetite  had  rendered  compara- 
tively easy. 

While  engaged  in  this,  Richard  revolved  in  his 
mind  several  questions  as  to  his  future  abode.  He 
could  not  reconcile  his  thought  to  any  of  the  work- 
ingmen's  boarding-houses,  of  which  there  were  five 
or  six  in  the  slums  of  the  village,  where  the  door- 
ways were  greasy,  and  women  flitted  about  in  the 
hottest  weather  with  thick  woolen  shawls  over  their 
heads.  Yet  his  finances  did  not  permit  him  to  as- 
pire to  lodgings  much  more  decent.  If  he  could 
only  secure  a  small  room  somewhere  in  a  quiet 
neighborhood.  Possibly  Mrs.  Durgin  would  let  him 
have  a  chamber  in  her  cottage.  He  was  beginning 
life  over  again,  and  it  struck  him  as  nearly  an  ideal 
plan  to  begin  it  on  the  identical  spot  where  he  had, 
in  a  manner,  made  his  first  start.  Besides,  there 
was  William  Durgin  for  company,  when  the  long 


78  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

nights  of  the  New  England  winter  set  in.  This 
idea  smiled  so  pleasantly  in  Richard's  fancy  that  he 
pushed  the  plate  away  from  him  impatiently,  and 
picked  up  his  hat  which  lay  on  the  floor  beside  the 
chair. 

That  evening  he  moved  from  the  Shackford  house 
to  Mrs.  Durgin's  cottage  in  Cross  Street.  It  was 
not  an  imposing  ceremony.  With  a  small  brown- 
paper  parcel  under  his  arm,  he  walked  from  one 
threshold  to  the  other,  and  the  thing  was  done. 


VIII. 

THE  six  months  which  followed  Richard's  install- 
ment in  the  office  at  Slocum's  Yard  were  so  crowded 
with  novel  experience  that  he  scarcely  noted  their 
flight.  The  room  at  the  Durgins,  as  will  presently 
appear,  turned  out  an  unfortunate  arrangement; 
but  everything  else  had  prospered.  Richard  proved 
an  efficient  aid  to  Mr.  Simms,  who  quietly  shifted 
the  pay-roll  to  the  younger  man's  shoulders.  This 
was  a  very  complicated  account  to  keep,  involving 
as  it  did  a  separate  record  of  each  employee's  time 
and  special  work.  An  ancient  bookkeeper  parts 
lightly  with  such  trifles  when  he  has  a  capable  as- 
sistant. It  also  fell  to  Richard's  lot  to  pay  the 
hands  on  Saturdays.  William  Durgin  blinked  his 
surprise  on  the  first  occasion,  as  he  filed  in  with  the 
others  and  saw  Richard  posted  at  the  desk,  with 
the  pay-roll  in  his  hand  and  the  pile  of  greenbacks 
lying  in  front  of  him. 

44 1  suppose  you  '11  be  proprietor  next,"  remarked 
Durgin,  that  evening,  at  the  supper  table. 

••  When  I  am,  Will,"  answered  Richard  cheerily, 


80  THE   STILLWATEB  TBAGEDY. 

"  you  shall  be  on  the  road  to  foreman  of  the  finish- 
ing shop." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Durgin,  not  too  graciously. 
It  grated  on  him  to  play  the  part  of  foreman,  even 
in  imagination,  with  Dick  Shackford  as  proprietor. 
Durgin  could  not  disconnect  his  friend  from  that 
seedy,  half-crestfallen  figure  to  whom,  a  few  months 
before,  he  had  given  elementary  instruction  on  the 
Marble  Workers'  Association. 

Richard  did  not  find  his  old  schoolmate  so  com- 
panionable as  memory  and  anticipation  had  painted 
him.  The  two  young  men  moved  on  different  lev- 
els. Richard's  sea  life,  now  that  he  had  got  at  a 
sufficient  distance  from  it,  was  a  perspective  full  of 
pleasant  color  ;  he  had  a  taste  for  reading,  a  thirst 
to  know  things,  and  his  world  was  not  wholly  shut 
in  by  the  Stillwater  horizon.  It  was  still  a  pitifully 
narrow  world,  but  wide  compared  with  Durgin's, 
which  extended  no  appreciable  distance  in  any  di- 
rection from  the  Stillwater  hotel.  He  spent  his 
evenings  chiefly  there,  returning  home  late  at  night, 
and  often  in  so  noisy  a  mood  as  to  disturb  Richard, 
who  slept  in  an  adjoining  apartment.  This  was  an 
annoyance ;  and  it  was  an  annoyance  to  have  Mrs. 
Durgin  coming  to  him  with  complaints  of  William. 
Other  matters  irritated  Richard.  He  had  contrived 
to  replenish  his  wardrobe,  and  the  sunburn  was  dis- 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  81 

appearing  from  his  hands,  which  the  nature  of  his 
occupation  left  soft  and  unscarred.  Durgin  was 
disposed  at  times  to  be  sarcastic  on  these  changes, 
but  always  stopped  short  of  actual  offense ;  for  he 
remembered  that  Shackford  when  a  boy,  amiable 
and  patient  as  he  was,  had  had  a  tiger's  temper  at 
bottom.  Durgin  had  seen  it  roused  once  or  twice, 
and  even  received  a  chance  sweep  of  the  paw. 
Richard  liked  Durgin's  rough  wit  as  little  as  Dur- 
gin relished  Richard's  good-natured  bluntness.  It 
was  a  mistake,  that  trying  to  pick  up  the  dropped 
thread  of  old  acquaintance. 

As  soon  as  the  permanency  of  his  position  was 
assured,  and  his  means  warranted  the  step,  Richard 
transported  himself  and  his  effects  to  a  comfortable 
chamber  in  the  same  house  with  Mr.  Pinkham,  the 
school-master,  the  perpetual  falsetto  of  whose  flute 
was  positively  soothing  after  four  months  of  Will- 
iam Durgin's  bass.  Mr.  Pinkham  having  but  one 
lung,  and  that  defective,  played  on  the  flute. 

"  You  see  what  you  've  gone  and  done,  William," 
remarked  Mrs.  Durgin  plaintively,  "with  your 
ways.  There  goes  the  quietest  youi.g  man  in  Still- 
water,  and  four  dollars  a  week  !  " 

"  There  goes  a  swell,  you  'd  better  say.  He  was 
always  a  proud  beggar ;  nobody  was  ever  good 
enough  for  him." 


82  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

«  You  should  n't  say  that,  William.  I  could  cry, 
to  lose  him  and  his  cheerfulness  out  of  the  house," 
and  Mrs.  Durgin  began  to  whimper. 

"  Wait  till  he  's  out  of  luck  again,  and  he  '11 
come  back  to  us  fast  enough.  That 's  when  his 
kind  remembers  their  friends.  Blast  him  !  he  can't 
even  take  a  drop  of  beer  with  a  chum  at  the  tav- 
ern." 

"  And  right,  too.  There  's  beer  enough  taken  at 
the  tavern  without  him." 

"  If  you  mean  me,  mother,  I  '11  get  drunk  to- 
night." 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Durgin,  pleadingly,  "  I 
did  n't  mean  you,  William,  but  Peters  and  that 
set." 

"  I  thought  you  could  n't  mean  me,"  said  Will- 
iam, thrusting  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his 
monkey-jacket,  and  sauntering  off  in  the  direction 
of  the  Stillwater  hotel,  where  there  was  a  choice 
company  gathered,  it  being  Saturday  night,  and 
the  monthly  meeting  of  the  Union. 

Mr.  Slocum  had  wasted  no  time  in  organizing  a 
shop  for  his  experiment  in  ornamental  carving. 
Five  or  six  men,  who  had  worked  elsewhere  at  this 
branch,  were  turned  over  to  the  new  department, 
with  Stevens  as  foreman  and  Richard  as  designer. 
Very  shortly  Richard  had  as  much  as  he  could  do 


THE  STILLWATEB  TRAGEDY.  83 

to  furnish  the  patterns  required.  These  consisted 
mostly  of  scrolls,  wreaths,  and  mortuary  dove-wings 
for  head-stones.  Fortunately  for  Richard  he  had 
no  genius,  but  plenty  of  a  kind  of  talent  just 
abreast  with  Mr.  Slocum's  purpose.  As  the  carvers 
became  interested  in  their  work,  they  began  to  show 
Richard  the  respect  and  good-will  which  at  first  had 
been  withheld,  for  they  had  not  quite  liked  being 
under  the  supervision  of  one  who  had  not  served  at 
the  trade.  His  youth  had  also  told  against  him  ;  but 
Richard's  pleasant,  off-hand  manner  quickly  won 
them.  He  had  come  in  contact  with  rough  men  on 
shipboard  ;  he  had  studied  their  ways,  and  he  knew 
that  with  all  their  roughness  there  is  no  class  so 
sensitive.  This  insight  was  of  great  service  to  him. 
Stevens,  who  had  perhaps  been  the  least  disposed 
to  accept  Richard,  was  soon  his  warm  ally. 

"  See  what  a  smooth  fist  the  lad  has !  "  he  said 
one  day  holding  up  a  new  drawing  to  the  shop. 
•»  A  man  with  a  wreath  of  them  acorns  on  his 
head-stone  oughter  be  perfectly  happy,  damn  him  I  " 

It  was,  however,  an  anchor  with  a  broken  chain 
pendent  —  a  design  for  a  monument  to  the  late 
Captain  Septimius  Salter,  who  had  parted  his 
cable  at  sea  —  which  settled  Richard's  status  with 
Stevens. 

"Boys,  that  Shackford  is  what  I  call  a  born 
genei." 


84  THE  STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY. 

After  all,  is  not  the  one-eyed  man  who  is  king 
among  the  blind  the  most  fortunate  of  monarchs  ? 
Your  little  talent  in  a  provincial  village  looms  a 
great  deal  taller  than  your  mighty  genius  in  a  city. 
Richard  Shackford  working  for  Rowland  Slocum 
at  Stillwater  was  happier  than  Michaelangelo  in 
Rome  with  Pope  Julius  II.  at  his  back.  And 
Richard  was  the  better  paid,  too  ! 

One  day  he  picked  up  a  useful  hint  from  a  cele- 
brated sculptor,  who  had  come  to  the  village  in 
search  of  marble  for  the  base  of  a  soldiers'  monu- 
ment. Richard  was  laboriously  copying  a  spray  of 
fern,  the  delicacy  of  which  eluded  his  pencil.  The 
sculptor  stood  a  moment  silently  observing  him. 

"  Why  do  you  spend  an  hour  doing  only  pas- 
sably well  what  you  could  do  perfectly  in  ten 
minutes  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  it  is  because  I  am  stupid,  sir,"  said 
Richard. 

"  No  stupid  man  ever  suspected  himself  of  being 
anything  but  clever.  You  draw  capitally;  but 
nature  beats  you  out  and  out  at  designing  ferns. 
Just  ask  her  to  make  you  a  fac-simile  in  plaster, 
and  see  how  handily  she  will  lend  herself  to  the 
job.  Of  course  you  must  help  her  a  little." 

**  Oh,  I  am  not  above  giving  nature  a  lift,"  said 
Richard  modestly. 


THE   STILLWATER  TRAGEDY.  85 

"  Lay  a  cloth  on  your  table,  place  the  fern  on 
the  cloth,  and  pour  a  thin  paste  of  plaster  of  Paris 
over  the  leaf,  —  do  that  gently,  so  as  not  to  disar- 
range the  spray.  When  the  plaster  is  set,  there  's 
your  mold ;  remove  the  leaf,  oil  the  matrix,  and 
pour  in  fresh  plaster.  When  that  is  set,  cut  away 
the  mold  carefully,  and  there  's  your  spray  of  fern, 
as  graceful  and  perfect  as  if  nature  had  done  it 
all  by  herself.  You  get  the  very  texture  of  the 
leaf  by  this  process." 

After  that,  Richard  made  casts  instead  of  draw- 
ings for  the  carvers,  and  fancied  he  was  doing  a 
new  thing,  until  he  visited  some  marble-works  in 
the  great  city. 

At  this  period,  whatever  change  subsequently 
took  place  in  his  feeling,  Richard  was  desirous  of 
establishing  friendly  relations  with  his  cousin.  The 
young  fellow's  sense  of  kinship  was  singularly 
strong,  and  it  was  only  after  several  repulses  at  the 
door  of  the  Shackford  house  and  on  the  street  that 
he  relinquished  the  hope  of  placating  the  sour  old 
man.  At  times  Richard  was  moved  almost  to  pity 
him.  Every  day  Mr.  Shackford  seemed  to  grow 
shabbier  and  more  spectral.  He  was  a  grotesque 
figure  now,  in  his  napless  hat  and  broken-down 
stock.  The  metal  button-molds  on  his  ancient 
waistcoat  had  worn  their  way  through  the  satin 


86  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

coverings,  leaving  here  and  there  a  sparse  fringe 
around  the  edges,  and  somehow  suggesting  little 
bald  heads.  Looking  at  him,  you  felt  that  the  inner 
man  was  as  threadbare  and  dilapidated  as  his  out- 
side ;  but  in  his  lonely  old  age  he  asked  for  no  hu- 
man sympathy  or  companionship,  and,  in  fact,  stood 
in  no  need  of  either.  With  one  devouring  passion 
he  set  the  world  at  defiance.  He  loved  his  gold,  — 
the  metal  itself,  the  weight  and  color  and  touch  of 
it.  In  his  bedroom  on  the  ground-floor  Mr.  Shack- 
ford  kept  a  small  iron-clamped  box  filled  to  the  lid 
with  bright  yellow  coins.  Often,  at  the  dead  of 
night,  with  door  bolted  and  curtain  down,  he  would 
spread  out  the  glittering  pieces  on  the  table,  and 
bend  over  them  with  an  amorous  glow  in  his  faded 
eyes.  These  were  his  blond  mistresses  ;  he  took  a 
fearful  joy  in  listening  to  their  rustling,  muffled 
laughter  as  he  drew  them  towards  him  with  eager 
hands.  If  at  that  instant  a  blind  chanced  to  slam, 
or  a  footfall  to  echo  in  the  lonely  court,  then  the 
withered  old  sultan  would  hurry  his  slaves  back 
into  their  iron-bound  seraglio,  and  extinguish  the 
light.  It  would  have  been  a  wasted  tenderness  to 
pity  him.  He  was  very  happy  in  his  own  way, 
that  Lemuel  STiackford. 


IX. 


TOWARDS  the  close  of  his  second  year  with  Mr. 
Slocum,  Richard  was  assigned  a  work-room  by 
himself,  and  relieved  of  his  accountant's  duties. 
His  undivided  energies  were  demanded  by  the 
carving  department,  which  had  proved  a  lucrative 
success. 

The  rear  of  the  lot  on  which  Mr.  Slocum's  house 
stood  was  shut  off  from  the  marble  yard  by  a  high 
brick  wall  pierced  with  a  private  door  for  Mr. 
Slocum's  convenience.  Over  the  kitchen  in  the 
extension,  which  reached  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
wall,  was  a  disused  chamber,  approachable  on  the 
outside  by  a  flight  of  steps  leading  to  a  veranda. 
To  this  room  Richard  and  his  traps  were  removed. 
With  a  round  table  standing  in  the  centre,  with  the 
plaster  models  arranged  on  shelves  and  sketches  in 
pencil  and  crayon  tacked  against  the  whitewashed 
walls,  the  apartment  was  transformed  into  a  delight- 
ful atelier.  An  open  fire-place,  with  a  brace  of  an- 
tiquated iron-dogs  straddling  the  red  brick  hearth, 
gave  the  finishing  touch.  The  occupant  was  in 


88  THE  STILLWATEE   TRAGEDY. 

easy  communication  with  the  yard,  from  which  the 
busy  din  of  clinking  chisels  came  up  musically  to 
his  ear,  and  was  still  beyond  the  reach  of  unneces- 
sary interruption.  Richard  saw  clearly  all  the  ad- 
vantages of  this  transfer,  but  he  was  far  from  hav- 
ing any  intimation  that  he  had  made  the  most  im- 
portant move  of  his  life. 

The  room  had  two  doors  :  one  opened  on  the 
veranda,  and  the  other  into  a  narrow  hall  connect- 
ing the  extension  with  the  main  building.  Fre- 
quently, that  first  week  after  taking  possession, 
Richard  detected  the  sweep  of  a  broom  and  the 
rustle  of  drapery  in  this  passage-way,  the  sound 
sometimes  hushing  itself  quite  close  to  the  door, 
as  if  some  one  had  paused  a  moment  just  outside. 
He  wondered  whether  it  was  the  servant-maid 
or  Margaret  Slocum,  whom  he  knew  very  well  by 
sight.  It  was,  in  fact,  Margaret,  who  was  dying 
with  the  curiosity  of  fourteen  to  peep  into  the 
studio,  so  carefully  locked  whenever  the  young 
man  left  it,  —  dying  with  curiosity  to  see  the  work- 
shop, and  standing  in  rather  great  awe  of  the 
workman. 

In  the  home  circle  her  father  had  a  habit  of 
speaking  with  deep  respect  of  young  Shackford's 
ability,  and  once  she  had  seen  him  at  their  table, 
—  at  a  Thanksgiving.  On  this  occasion  Richard 


THE   STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY.  89 

had  appalled  her  by  the  solemnity  of  his  shyness, 
— poor  Richard,  who  was  so  unused  to  the  ameni- 
ties of  a  handsomely,  served  dinner,  that  the  chill 
which  came  over  him  cooled  the  Thanksgiving  tur- 
key on  his  palate. 

When  it  had  been  decided  that  he  was  to  have 
the  spare  room  for  his  workshop,  Margaret,  with 
womanly  officiousness,  had  swept  it  and  dusted  it 
and  demolished  the  cobwebs ;  but  since  then  she 
had  not  been  able  to  obtain  so  much  as  a  glimpse 
of  the  interior.  A  ten  minutes'  sweeping  .  had 
sufficed  for  the  chamber,  but  the  passage-way 
seemed  in  quite  an  irreclaimable  state,  judging  by 
the  number  of  times  it  was  necessary  to  sweep  it  in 
the  course  of  a  few  days.  Now  Margaret  was  not 
an  unusual  mixture  of  timidity  and  daring ;  so  one 
morning,  about  a  week  after  Richard  was  settled, 
she  walked  with  quaking  heart  up  to  the  door  of 
the  studio,  and  knocked  as  bold  as  brass. 

Richard  opened  the  door,  and  smiled  pleasantly 
at  Margaret  standing  on  the  threshold  with  an  ex- 
pression of  demure  defiance  in  her  face.  Did  Mr. 
Shackford  want  anything  more  in  the  way  of  pans 
and  pails  for  his  plaster  ?  No,  Mr.  Shackford  had 
everything  he  required  of  the  kind.  But  would 
not  Miss  Margaret  walk  in  ?  Yes,  she  would  step 
in  for  a  moment,  but  with  a  good  deal  of  indiffer- 


90  THE   STILLWATEB  TRAGEDY. 

ence,  though,  giving  an  air  of  chance  to  her  settled 
determination  to  examine  that  room  from  top  to 
bottom. 

Richard  showed  her  his  drawings  and  casts,  and 
enlightened  her  on  all  the  simple  mysteries  of  his 
craft.  Margaret,  of  whom  he  was  a  trifle  afraid  at 
first,  amused  him  with  her  candor  and  sedateness, 
seeming  now  a  mere  child,  and  now  an  elderly 
person  gravely  inspecting  matters.  The  frankness 
and  simplicity  were  hers  by  nature,  and  the  oldish 
ways  —  notably  her  self-possession,  so  quick  to  as- 
sert itself  after  an  instant's  forgetfulness  —  came 
perhaps  of  losing  her  mother  in  early  childhood, 
and  the  premature  duties  which  that  misfortune 
entailed.  She  amused  him,  for  she  was  only  four- 
teen ;  but  she  impressed  him  also,  for  she  was  Mr. 
Slocum's  daughter.  Yet  it  was  not  her  lightness, 
but  her  gravity,  that  made  Richard  smile  to  him- 
self. 

"  I  am  not  interrupting  you  ?  "  she  asked  pres- 
ently. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  Richard.  "  I  am  wait- 
ing for  these  molds  to  harden.  I  cannot  do  any- 
thing until  then." 

"  Papa  says  you  are  very  clever,"  remarked 
Margaret,  turning  her  wide  black  eyes  full  upon 
him.  "Are  you  ?  " 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  91 

"  Far  from  it,"  replied  Richard,  laughing  to  veil 
his  confusion,  "  but  I  am  glad  your  father  thinks 
so." 

"  You  should  not  be  glad  to  have  him  think  so," 
returned  Margaret  reprovingly,  "if  you  are  not 
clever.  I  suppose  you  are,  though.  Tell  the  truth, 
now." 

"It  is  not  fair  to  force  a  fellow  into  praising 
himself." 

"  You  are  trying  to  creep  out ! " 

"  Well,  then,  there  are  many  cleverer  persons 
than  I  in  the  world,  and  a  few  not  so  clever." 

"  That  won't  do,"  said  Margaret  positively. 

"  I  don't  understand  what  you  mean  by  clever- 
ness, Miss  Margaret.  There  are  a  great  many 
kinds  and  degrees.  I  can  make  fairly  honest  pat- 
terns for  the  men  to  work  by ;  but  I  am  not  an 
artist,  if  you  mean  that." 

"  You  are  not  an  artist  ?  " 

"No;  an  artist  creates,  and  I  only  copy,  and 
that  in  a  small  way.  Any  one  can  learn  to  pre- 
pare casts  ;  but  to  create  a  bust  or  a  statue  —  that 
is  to  say,  a  fine  one  —  a  man  must  have  genius." 

"  You  have  no  genius  ?  " 

"  Not  a  grain." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  said  Margaret,  with 
a  disappointed  look.  "  But  perhaps  it  will  come," 


92  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

she  added  encouragingly.  "  I  have  read  that  nearly 
all  great  artists  and  poets  are  almost  always  mod- 
est. They  know  better  than  anybody  else  how  far 
they  fall  short  of  what  they  intend,  and  so  they 
don't  put  on  airs.  You  don't,  either.  I  like  that 
in  you.  May  be  you  have  genius  without  knowing 
it,  Mr.  Shackford." 

"  It  is  quite  without  knowing  it,  I  assure  you !  " 
protested  Richard,  with  suppressed  merriment. 
"  What  an  odd  girl !  "  he  thought.  "  She  is  actu- 
ally talking  to  me  like  a  mother  I " 

The  twinkling  light  in  the  young  man's  eyes,  or 
something  that  jarred  in  his  manner,  caused  Mar- 
garet at  once  to  withdraw  into  herself.  She  went 
silently  about  the  room,  examining  the  tools  and 
patterns  ;  then,  nearing  the  door,  suddenly  dropped 
Richard  a  quaint  little  courtesy,  and  was  gone. 

This  was  the  colorless  beginning  of  a  friendship 
that  was  destined  speedily  to  be  full  of  tender 
lights  and  shadows,  and  to  flow  on  with  unsuspected 
depth.  For  several  days  Richard  saw  nothing  more 
of  Margaret,  and  scarcely  thought  of  her.  The 
strange  little  figure  was  fading  out  of  his  mind, 
when,  one  afternoon,  it  again  appeared  at  his  door. 
This  time  Margaret  had  left  something  of  her  se- 
dateness  behind ;  she  struck  Richard  as  being  both 
less  ripe  and  less  immature  than  he  had  fancied ; 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  93 

she  interested  rather  than  amused  him.  Perhaps  he 
had  been  partially  insulated  by  his  own  shyness  on 
the  first  occasion,  and  had  caught  only  a  confused 
and  inaccurate  impression  of  Margaret's  person- 
ality. She  renmined  half  an  hour  in  the  work- 
shop, and  at  her  departure  omitted  the  formal 
courtesy. 

After  this,  Margaret  seldom  let  a  week  slip 
without  tapping  once  or  twice  at  the  studio,  at  first 
with  some  pretext  or  other,  and  then  with  no  pre- 
tense whatever.  When  Margaret  had  disburdened 
herself  of  excuses  for  dropping  in  to  watch  Richard 
mold  his  leaves  and  flowers,  she  came  oftener,  and 
Richard  insensibly  drifted  into  the  habit  of  expect- 
ing her  on  certain  days,  and  was  disappointed  when 
she  failed  to  appear.  His  industry  had  saved  him, 
until  now,  from  discovering  how  solitary  his  life 
really  was ;  for  his  life  was  as  solitary  —  as  solitary 
as  that  of  Margaret,  who  lived  in  the  great  house 
with  only  her  father,  the  two  servants,  and  an 
episodical  aunt.  The  mother  was  long  ago  dead ; 
Margaret  could  not  recollect  when  that  gray  head- 
stone, with  blotches  of  rusty-green  moss  breaking 
out  over  the  lettering,  was  not  in  the  churchyard ; 
and  there  never  had  been  any  brothers  or  sisters. 

To  Margaret  Richard's  installation  in  the  empty 
room,  where  as  a  child  she  had  always  been  afraid 


94  THE   STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY. 

to  go,  was  the  single  important  break  she  could 
remember  in  the  monotony  of  her  existence ;  and 
now  a  vague  yearning  for  companionship,  the  blind 
sense  of  the  plant  reaching  towards  the  sunshine, 
drew  her  there.  The  tacitly  prescribed  half  hour 
often  lengthened  to  an  hour.  Sometimes  Margaret 
brought  a  book  with  her,  or  a  piece  of  embroidery, 
and  the  two  spoke  scarcely  ten  words,  Richard 
giving  her  a  smile  now  and  then,  and  she  return- 
ing a  sympathetic  nod  as  the  cast  came  out  suc- 
cessfully. 

Margaret  at  fifteen  —  she  was  fifteen  now  —  was 
not  a  beauty.  There  is  the  loveliness  of  the  bud 
and  the  loveliness  of  the  f ull-blowii  flower ;  but 
Margaret  as  a  blossom  was  not  pretty.  She  was 
awkward  and  angular,  with  prominent  shoulder- 
blades,  and  no  soft  curves  anywhere  in  her  slim- 
ness  ;  only  her  black  hair,  growing  low  on  the  fore- 
head, and  her  eyes  were  fine.  Her  profile,  indeed, 
with  the  narrow  forehead  and  the  sensitive  upper 
lip,  might  fairly  have  suggested  the  mask  of  Clytie 
which  Richard  had  bought  of  an  itinerant  image- 
dealer,  and  fixed  on  a  bracket  over  the  mantel- 
shelf. But  her  eyes  were  her  specialty,  if  one  may 
say  that.  They  were  fringed  with  such  heavy 
lashes  that  the  girl  seemed  always  to  be  in  half- 
mourning.  Her  smile  was  singularly  sweet  and 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  95 

bright,  perhaps  because  it  broke  through  so  much 
sombre  coloring. 

If  there  was  a  latent  spark  of  sentiment  between 
Richard  and  Margaret  in  those  earlier  days,  neither 
was  conscious  of  it ;  they  had  seemingly  begun 
where  happy  lovers  generally  end,  —  by  being  dear 
comrades.  He  liked  to  have  Margaret  sitting  there, 
with  her  needle  flashing  in  the  sunlight,  or  her 
eyelashes  making  a  rich  gloom  above  the  book  as 
she  read  aloud.  It  was  so  agreeable  to  look  up 
from  his  work,  and  not  be  alone.  He  had  been 
alone  so  much.  And  Margaret  found  nothing  in 
the  world  pleasanter  than  to  sit  there  and  watch 
Richard  making  his  winter  garden,  as  she  called  it. 
By  and  by  it  became  her  custom  to  pass  every  Sat- 
urday afternoon  in  that  employment. 

Margaret  was  not  content  to  be  merely  a  visitor  ; 
she  took  a  housewifely  care  of  the  workshop,  reso- 
lutely straightening  out  its  chronic  disorder  at  un- 
expected moments,  and  fighting  the  white  dust  that 
settled  upon  everything.  The  green-paper  shade, 
which  did  not  roll  up  very  well,  at  the  west  window 
was  of  her  devising.  An  empty  camphor  vial  on 
Richard's  desk  had  always  a  clove  pink,  or  a  pansy, 
or  a  rose,  stuck  into  it,  according  to  the  season. 
She  hid  herself  away  and  peeped  out  in  a  hundred 
feminine  things  in  the  room.  Sometimes  she  was 


96  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

a  bit  of  crochet-work  left  on  a  chair,  and  some- 
times she  was  only  a  hair-pin,  which  Richard 
gravely  picked  up  and  put  on  the  mantel-piece. 

Mr.  Slocum  threw  no  obstacles  in  the  path  of 
this  idyllic  friendship  ;  possibly  he  did  not  observe 
it.  In  his  eyes  Margaret  was  still  a  child,  —  a 
point  of  view  that  necessarily  excluded  any  consid- 
eration of  Richard.  Perhaps,  however,  if  Mr.  Slo- 
cum could  have  assisted  invisibly  at  a  pretty  little 
scene  which  took  place  in  the  studio,  one  day,  some 
twelve  or  eighteen  months  after  Margaret's  first 
visit  to  it,  he  might  have  found  food  for  reflection. 

It  was  a  Saturday  afternoon.  Margaret  had  come 
into  the  workshop  with  her  sewing,  as  usual.  The 
papers  on  the  round  table  had  been  neatly  cleared 
away,  and  Richard  was  standing  by  the  window, 
indolently  drumming  on  the  glass  with  a  palette- 
knife. 

"  Not  at  work  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  I  was  waiting  for  you." 

"  That  is  no  excuse  at  all,"  said  Margaret,  sweep- 
ing across  the  room  with  a  curious  air  of  self-con- 
sciousness, and  arranging  her  drapery  with  infinite 
pains  as  she  seated  herself. 

Richard  looked  puzzled  for  a  moment,  and  then 
exclaimed,  "  Margaret,  you  have  got  on  a  long 
dress!" 


THE  STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  97 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret,  with  dignity.  "  Do  you 
like  it,  —  the  train?" 

"  That 's  a  train  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret,  standing  up  and  glancing 
over  her  left  shoulder  at  the  soft  folds  of  maroon- 
colored  stuff,  which,  with  a  mysterious  feminine 
movement  of  the  foot,  she  caused  to  untwist  itself 
and  flow  out  gracefully  behind  her.  There  was 
really  something  very  pretty  in  the  hesitating  lines 
of  the  tall,  slender  figure,  as  she  leaned  back  that 
way.  Certain  unsuspected  points  emphasized  them- 
selves so  cunningly. 

"  I  never  saw  anything  finer,"  declared  Richard. 
"  It  was  worth  waiting  for." 

"  But  you  should  n't  have  waited,"  said  Margaret, 
with  a  gratified  flush,  settling  herself  into  the  chair 
again.  "  It  was  understood  that  you  were  never  to 
let  me  interfere  with  your  work." 

"  You  see  yoft  have,  by  being  twenty  minutes 
late.  I  've  finished  that  acorn  border  for  Stevens's 
capitals,  and  there's  nothing  more  to  do  for  the 
yard.  I  am  going  to  make  something  for  myself, 
and  I  want  you  to  lend  me  a  hand." 

"How  can  I  help  you,  Richard?"  Margaret 
asked,  promptly  stopping  the  needle  in  the  hem. 

"I  need  a  paper-weight  to  keep  my  sketches 
from  being  blown  about,  and  I  wish  you  liter- 

T 


98  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

ally  to  lend  me  a  hand, — a  hand  to  take  a  cast 
of." 

"Really?" 

"  I  think  that  little  white  claw  would  make  a 
very  neat  paper-weight,"  said  Richard. 

Margaret  gravely  rolled  up  her  sleeve  to  the  el- 
bow, and  contemplated  the  hand  and  wrist  crit- 
ically. 

"  It  is  like  a  claw,  is  n't  it.  I  think  you  can  find 
something  better  than  that." 

"  No  ;  that  is  what  I  want,  and  nothing  else. 
That,  or  no  paper-weight  for  me." 

"  Very  well,  just  as  you  choose.  It  will  be  a 
fright." 

"The  other  hand,  please." 

"  I  gave  you  the  left  because  I  've  a  ring  on  this 
one." 

"  You  can  take  off  the  ring,  I  suppose." 

"  Of  course  I  can  take  it  off." 

"Well,  then,  do." 

"  Richard,"  said  Margaret  severely,  "  I  hope  you 
are  not  a  fidget." 

"A  what?." 

"  A  fuss,  then,  —  a  person  who  always  wants 
everything  some  other  way,  and  makes  just  twice 
as  much  trouble  as  anybody  else." 

"No,  Margaret,  I  am  not  that.     I  prefer  your 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  99 

right  hand  because  the  left  is  next  to  the  heart,  and 
the  evaporation  of  the  water  in  the  plaster  turns  it 
as  cold  as  snow.  Your  arm  will  be  chilled  to  the 
shoulder.  We  don't  want  to  do  anything  to  hurt 
the  good  little  heart,  you  know." 

u  Certainly  not,"  said  Margaret.  "  There  !  "  and 
she  rested  her  right  arm  on  the  table,  while  Rich- 
ard placed  the  hand  in  the  desired  position  on  a 
fresh  napkin  which  he  had  folded  for  the  purpose. 

"Let  your  hand  lie  flexible,  please.  Hold  it  nat- 
urally. Why  do  you  stiffen  the  fingers  so  ?  " 

"  I  don't ;  they  stiffen  themselves,  Richard. 
They  know  they  are  going  to  have  their  photo- 
graph taken,  and  can't  look  natural.  Who  ever 
does?  " 

After  a  minute  the  fingers  relaxed,  and  settled  of 
their  own  accord  into  an  easy  pose.  Richard  laid 
his  hand  softly  on  her  wrist. 

"  Don't  move  now." 

"I'll  be  as  quiet  as  a  mouse,"  said  Margaret 
giving  a  sudden  queer  little  glance  at  his  face. 

Richard  emptied  a  paper  of  white  powder  into  a 
great  yellow  bowl  half  filled  with  water,  and  fell  to 
stirring  it  vigorously,  like  a  pastry-cook  beating 
eggs.  When  the  plaster  was  of  the  proper  consist- 
ency he  began  building  it  up  around  the  hand,  pour- 
ing on  a  spoonful  at  a  time,  here  and  there,  care- 


100  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

fully.  In  a  minute  or  two  the  inert  white  fingers 
were  completely  buried.  Margaret  made  a  comical 
grimace. 

"  Is  it  cold  ?  " 

"  Ice,"  said  Margaret,  shutting  her  eyes  involun- 
tarily. 

"  If  it  is  too  disagreeable  we  can  give  it  up," 
suggested  Richard. 

"  No,  don't  touch  it !  "  she  cried,  waving  him 
back  with  her  free  arm.  "I  don't  mind  ;  but  it 's 
as  cold  as  so  much  snow.  How  curious  !  What 
does  it?" 

"  I  suppose  a  scientific  fellow  could  explain  the 
matter  to  you  easily  enough.  When  the  water 
evaporates  a  kind  of  congealing  process  sets  in, — 
a  sort  of  atmospherical  change,  don't  you  know? 
The  sudden  precipitation  of  the  —  the  "  — 

"  You  're  as  good  as  Tyndall  on  Heat,"  said  Mar- 
garet demurely. 

41  Oh,  Tyndall  is  well  enough  in  his  way,"  re- 
turned Richard,  "but  of  course  he  doesn't  go  into 
things  so  deeply  as  I  do." 

"  The  idea  of  telling  me  that  '  a  congealing  proc- 
ess sets  in,'  when  I  am  nearly  frozen  to  death  ! " 
cried  Margaret,  bowing  her  head  over  the  impris- 
oned arm. 

"  Your  unseemly  levity,  Margaret,  makes  it  nee- 


THE   STILL  WATER   TRAGEDY.  101 

essary  for  me  to  defer  my  remarks  on  natural  phe- 
nomena until  some  more  fitting  occasion." 

"  Oh,  Richard,  don't  let  an  atmospherical  change 
come  over  you  !  " 

"  When  you  knocked  at  my  door,  months  ago," 
said  Richard,  "  I  did  n't  dream  you  were  such  a 
satirical  little  piece,  or  may  be  you  would  n't  have 
got  in.  You  stood  there  as  meek  as  Moses,  with 
your  frock  reaching  only  to  the  tops  of  your  boots. 
You  were  a  deception,  Margaret." 

"  I  was  dreadfully  afraid  of  you,  Richard." 

"  You  are  not  afraid  of  me  nowadays." 

"Not  a  bit." 

"  You  are  showing  your  true  colors.  That  long 
dress,  too !  I  believe  the  train  has  turned  your 
head." 

"  But  just  now  you  said  you  admired  it." 

'*  So  I  ciid,  and  do.  It  makes  you  look  quite  like 
a  woman,  though." 

"  I  want  to  be  a  woman.  I  would  like  to  be  as 
old  —  as  old  as  Mrs.  Methuselah.  Was  there  a 
Mrs.  Methuselah  ?  " 

"  I  really  forget,"  replied  Richard,  considering. 
"  But  there  must  have  been.  The  old  gentleman 
had  time  enough  to  have  several.  I  believe,  how- 
ever, that  history  is  rather  silent  about  his  domestic 
affairs." 


102  THE   STILL  WATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Margaret,  after  thinking  it 
over,  "  I  would  like  to  be  as  old  as  the  youngest 
Mrs.  Methuselah." 

"  That  was  probably  the  last  one,"  remarked 
Richard,  with  great  profundity.  "  She  was  proba- 
bly some  giddy  young  thing  of  seventy  or  eighty. 
Those  old  widowers  never  take  a  wife  of  their  own 
age.  I  should  n't  want  you  to  be  seventy,  Marga- 
ret, —  or  even  eighty." 

"On  the  whole,  perhaps,  I  shouldn't  fancy  it 
myself.  Do  you  approve  of  persons  marrying 
twice  ?  " 

"  N — o,  not  at  the  same  time." 

"  Of  course  I  did  n't  mean  that,"  said  Margaret, 
with  asperity.  "  How  provoking  you  can  be  !  " 

"  But  they  used  to,  —  in  the  olden  time,  don't 
you  know  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't." 

Richard  burst  out  laughing.  "  Imagine  him,"  he 
cried,  —  "  imagine  Methuselah  in  his  eight  or  nine 
hundredth  year,  dressed  in  his  customary  bridal 
suit,  with  a  sprig  of  century-plant  stuck  in  his  but- 
ton-hole !  " 

"  Richard,"  said  Margaret  solemnly,  "  you  should 
n't  speak  jestingly  of  a  scriptural  character." 

At  this  Richard  broke  out  again.  "  But  gracious 
me ! '  he  exclaimed,  suddenly  checking  himself. 
v  I  am  forgetting  you  all  this  while  I  " 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  103 

Richard  hurriedly  reversed  the  mass  of  plaster 
on  the  table,  and  released  Margaret's  half-petrified 
fingers.  They  were  shriveled  and  colorless  with  the 
cold. 

"  There  is  n't  any  feeling  in  it  whatever,"  said 
Margaret,  holding  up  her  hand  helplessly,  like  a 
wounded  wing. 

Richard  took  the  fingers  between  his  palms,  and 
chafed  them  smartly  for  a  moment  or  two  to  restore 
the  suspended  circulation. 

"  There,  that  will  do,"  said  Margaret,  withdraw- 
ing her  hand. 

"  Are  you  all  right  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thanks  ;  "  and  then  she  added,  smiling, 
"  I  suppose  a  scientific  fellow  could  explain  why  my 
fingers  seem  to  be  full  of  hot  pins  and  needles 
shooting  in  every  direction." 

"  Tyndall  's  your  man  —  Tyndall  on  Heat,"  an- 
swered Richard,  with  a  laugh,  turning  to  examine 
the  result  of  his  work.  "  The  mold  is  perfect,  Mar- 
garet. You  were  a  good  girl  to  keep  so  still." 

Richard  then  proceeded  to  make  the  cast,  which 
vas  soon  placed  on  the  window  ledge  to  harden  in 
the  sun.  When  the  plaster  was  set,  he  cautiously 
chipped  off  the  shell  with  a  chisel,  Margaret  lean- 
ing over  his  shoulder  to  watch  the  operation, —  and 
there  was  the  little  white  claw,  which  ever  after 


104  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

took  such  dainty  care  of  his  papers,  and  ultimately 
became  so  precious  to  him  as  a  part  of  Margaret's 
very  self  that  he  would  not  have  exchanged  it  for 
the  Venus  of  Milo. 

But  as  yet  Richard  was  far  enough  from  all  that. 


THREE  years  glided  by  with  Richard  Shackford 
as  swiftly  as  those  periods  of  time  which  are  imag- 
ined to  elapse  between  the  acts  of  a  play.  They 
•were  eventless,  untroubled  years,  aud  have  no  his- 
tory. Nevertheless,  certain  changes  had  taken 
place.  Little  by  little  Mr.  Slocum  had  relinquished 
the  supervision  of  the  workshops  to  Richard,  until 
now  the  affairs  of  the  yard  rested  chiefly  on  his 
shoulders.  It  was  like  a  dream  to  him  when  he 
looked  directly  back  to  his  humble  beginning, 
though  as  he  reflected  upon  it,  and  retraced  his 
progress  step  by  step,  he  saw  there  was  nothing 
illogical  or  astonishing  in  his  good  fortune.  He 
had  won  it  by  downright  hard  work  and  the  faith- 
ful exercise  of  a  sufficing  talent. 

In  his  relations  with  Margaret,  Richard's  attitude 
had  undergone  no  appreciable  change.  Her  chance 
visits  to  the  studio  through  the  week  and  those 
pleasant,  half-idle  Saturday  afternoons  had  become 
to  both  Richard  and  Margaret  a  matter  of  course, 
like  the  sunlight,  or  the  air  they  breathed. 


106  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

To  Richard,  Margaret  Slocum  at  nineteen  was 
simply  a  charming,  frank  girl,  —  a  type  of  gracious 
young  womanhood.  He  was  conscious  of  her  influ- 
ence ;  he  was  very  fond  of  Margaret ;  but  she  had 
not  yet  taken  on  for  him  that  magic  individuality 
which  makes  a  woman  the  one  woman  in  the  world 
to  her  lover.  Thougli  Richard  had  scant  experi- 
ence in  such  matters,  he  was  not  wrong  in  accept- 
ing Margaret  as  the  type  of  a  class  of  New  England 
girls,  which,  fortunately  for  New  England,  is  not  a 
small  class.  These  young  women  for  the  most  part 
lead  quiet  and  restricted  lives  so  far  as  the  actuali- 
ties are  concerned,  but  very  deep  and  full  lives  in 
the  world  of  books  and  imagination,  to  which  they 
make  early  escapes.  They  have  the  high  instincts 
that  come  of  good  blood,  the  physique  that  natu- 
rally fits  fine  manners ;  and  when  chance  takes  one 
of  these  maidens  from  her  inland  country  home  or 
from  some  sleepy  town  on  the  sea-board,  and  sets 
her  amid  the  complications  of  city  existence,  she  is 
an  unabashed  and  unassuming  lady.  If  in  Paris, 
she  differs  from  the  Parisiennes  only  in  the  greater 
delicacy  of  her  lithe  beauty,  her  innocence  which  is 
not  ignorance,  and  her  French  pronunciation  ;  if  in 
London,  she  differs  from  English  girls  only  in  the 
matter  of  rosy  cheeks  and  the  rising  inflection. 
Should  none  of  these  fortunate  transplun tings  be- 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  107 

fall  her,  she  always  merits  them  by  adorning  with 
grace  and  industry  and  intelligence  the  narrower 
sphere  to  which  destiny  has  assigned  her. 

Destiny  had  assigned  Margaret  Slocum  to  a  very 
narrow  sphere ;  it  had  shut  her  up  in  an  obscure 
New  England  manufacturing  village,  with  no  soci- 
ety, strictly  speaking,  and  no  outlets  whatever  to 
large  experiences.  To  her  father's  affection,  Rich- 
ard's friendship,  and  her  household  duties  she  was 
forced  to  look  for  her  happiness.  If  life  held  wider 
possibilities  for  her,  she  had  not  dreamed  of  them. 
She  looked  up  to  Richard  with  respect,  —  perhaps 
with  a  dash  of  sentiment  in  the  respect ;  there  was 
something  at  once  gentle  and  virile  in  his  character 
which  she  admired  and  leaned  upon ;  in  his  pres- 
ence the  small  housekeeping  troubles  always  slipped 
from  her ;  but  her  heart,  to  use  a  pretty  French 
phrase,  had  not  consciously  spoken,  —  possibly  it 
had  murmured  a  little,  incoherently,  to  itself,  but 
it  had  not  spoken  out  aloud,  as  perhaps  it  would 
have  done  long  ago  if  an  impediment  had  been 
placed  in  the  way  of  their  intimacy.  With  all  her 
subtler  intuitions,  Margaret  was  as  far  as  Richard 
from  suspecting  the  strength  and  direction  of  the 
eurrent  with  which  they  were  drifting.  Freedom, 
habit,  and  the  nature  of  their  environment  con- 
spired to  prolong  this  mutual  lack  of  perception. 


108  THE   STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY. 

The  hour  had  sounded,  however,  when  these  two 
were  to  see  each  other  in  a  different  light. 

One  Monday  morning  in  March,  at  the  close  of 
the  three  years  in  question,  as  Richard  mounted  the 
outside  staircase  leading  to  his  studio  in  the  exten- 
sion, the  servant-maid  beckoned  to  him  from  the 
kitchen  window. 

Margaret  had  failed  to  come  to  the  studio  the 
previous  Saturday  afternoon.  Richard  had  worked 
at  cross-purposes  and  returned  to  his  boarding- 
house  vaguely  dissatisfied,  as  always  happened  to 
him  on  those  rare  occasions  when  she  missed  the 
appointment ;  but  he  had  thought  little  of  the  cir- 
cumstance. Nor  had  he  been  disturbed  on  Sunday 
at  seeing  the  Slocum  pew  vacant  during  both  serv- 
ices. The  heavy  snow-storm  which  had  begun  the 
night  before  accounted  for  at  least  Margaret's  ab- 
sence. 

"  Mr.  Slocum  told  me  to  tell  you  that  he  should 
n't  be  in  the  yard  to-day,"  said  the  girl.  "  Miss 
Margaret  is  very  ill." 

"  111 ! "  Richard  repeated,  and  the  smile  with 
which  he  had  leaned  over  the  rail  towards  the  win- 
dow went  out  instantly  on  his  lip. 

"Dr.  Weld  was  up  with  her  until  five  o'clock 
this  morning,"  said  the  girl,  fingering  the  corner  of 
her  apron.  "  She  's  that  low." 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  109 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"  It 's  a  fever." 

"What  kind  of  fever?" 

"  I  don't  mind  me  what  the  doctor  called  it.  He 
thinks  it  come  from  something  wrong  with  the 
drains." 

"  He  did  n't  say  typhoid  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  'a  the  name  of  it." 

Richard  ascended  the  stairs  with  a  slow  step,  and 
a  moment  afterwards  stood  stupidly  in  the  middle 
of  the  workshop.  "  Margaret  is  going  to  die,"  he 
said  to  himself,  giving  voice  to  the  dark  foreboding 
that  had  instantly  seized  upon  him,  and  in  a  swift 
vision  he  saw  the  end  of  all  that  simple,  fortunate 
existence  which  he  had  lived  without  once  reflect- 
ing it  could  ever  end.  He  mechanically  picked  up 
a  tool  from  the  table,  and  laid  it  down  again.  Then 
he  seated  himself  on  the  low  bench  between  the 
windows.  It  was  Margaret's  favorite  place  ;  it  was 
not  four  days  since  she  sat  there  reading  to  him. 
Already  it  appeared  long  ago,  —  years  and  years 
ago.  He  could  hardly  remember  when  he  did  not 
have  this  heavy  weight  on  his  heart.  His  life  of 
yesterday  abruptly  presented  itself  to  him  as  a  rem- 
iniscence ;  he  saw  now  how  happy  that  life  had 
been,  and  how  lightly  he  had  accepted  it.  It  took 
to  itself  all  that  precious  quality  of  things  irrevoca- 
bly lost. 


110  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

The  clamor  of  the  bell  in  the  South  Church 
striking  noon,  and  the  shrilling  of  the  steam-whis- 
tles softened  by  the  thick-falling  snow,  roused  Rich- 
ard from  his  abstraction.  He  was  surprised  that  it 
was  noon.  He  rose  from  the  bench  and  went  home 
through  the  storm,  scarcely  heeding  the  sleet  that 
snapped  in  his  face  like  whip-lashes.  Margaret  was 
going  to  die  ! 

For  four  or  five  weeks  the  world  was  nearly  a 
blank  to  Richard  Shackford.  The  insidious  fever 
that  came  and  went,  bringing  alternate  despair  and 
hope  to  the  watchers  in  the  hushed  room,  was  in 
his  veins  also.  He  passed  the  days  between  his 
lonely  lodgings  in  Lime  Street  and  the  studio,  do- 
ing nothing,  restless  and  apathetic  by  turns,  but 
with  always  a  poignant  sense  of  anxiety.  Ho 
ceased  to  take  any  distinct  measurement  of  time 
further  than  to  note  that  an  interval  of  months 
seemed  to  separate  Monday  from  Monday.  Mean- 
while, if  new  patterns  had  been  required  by  the 
men,  the  work  in  the  carving  departments  would 
have  come  to  a  dead  lock. 

At  length  the  shadow  lifted,  and  there  fell  a  day 
of  soft  May  weather  when  Margaret,  muffled  in 
shawls  and  as  white  as  death,  was  seated  once 
more  in  her  accustomed  corner  by  the  west  win- 
dow. She  had  insisted  on  being  brought  there  the 


THE  STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  Ill 

first  practicable  moment;  nowhere  else  in  the  house 
was  such  sunshine,  and  Mr.  Slocum  himself  had 
brought  her  in  his  arms.  She  leaned  back  against 
the  pillows,  smiling  faintly.  Her  fingers  lay  locked 
on  her  lap,  and  the  sunlight  showed  through  the 
narrow  transparent  palms.  It  was  as  if  her  hands 
were  full  of  blush-roses. 

Richard  breathed  again,  but  not  with  so  free  a 
heart  as  before.  What  if  she  had  died?  He  felt 
an  immense  pity  for  himself  when  he  thought  of 
that,  and  he  thought  of  it  continually  as  the  days 
wore  on. 

Either  a  great  alteration  had  wrought  itself  in 
Margaret,  or  Richard  beheld  her  through  a  clearer 
medium  during  the  weeks  of  convalescence  that  fol- 
lowed. Was  this  the  slight,  sharp-faced  girl  he 
used  to  know  ?  The  eyes  and  the  hair  were  the 
same ;  but  the  smile  was  deeper,  and  the  pliant 
figure  had  lost  its  extreme  slimness  without  a  sacri- 
fice to  its  delicacy.  The  spring  air  was  filling  her 
veins  with  abundant  health,  and  mantling  her 
cheeks  with  a  richer  duskiness  than  they  had  ever 
worn.  Margaret  was  positively  handsome.  Her 
beauty  had  come  all  in  a  single  morning,  like  the 
crocuses.  This  beauty  began  to  awe  Richard  ;  it 
had  the  effect  of  seeming  to  remove  her  further  and 
further  from  him.  He  grew  moody  and  restless 


112  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

when  they  were  together,  and  was  wretched  alone. 
His  constraint  did  not  escape  Margaret.  She 
watched  him,  and  wondered  at  his  inexplicable  de- 
pression when  every  one  in  the  household  was  re- 
joicing in  her  recovery.  By  and  by  this  depression 
wounded  her,  but  she  was  too  spirited  to  show  the 
hurt.  She  always  brought  a  book  with  her  now, 
in  her  visits  to  the  studio  ;  it  was  less  awkward  to 
read  than  to  sit  silent  and  unspoken  to  over  a  piece 
of  needle-work. 

"  How  very  odd  you  are  !  "  said  Margaret,  one 
afternoon,  closing  the  volume  which  she  had  held 
mutely  for  several  minutes,  waiting  for  Richard  to 
grasp  the  fact  that  she  had  ceased  reading  aloud. 

"  I  odd ! "  protested  Richard,  breaking  with  a 
jerk  from  one  of  his  long  reveries.  "In  what 
way  ?  " 

"  As  if  I  could  explain  —  when  you  put  the  ques- 
tion suddenly,  like  that." 

"  I  did  n't  intend  to  be  abrupt.  I  was  curious  to 
know.  And  then  the  charge  itself  was  a  trifle  un- 
expected, if  you  will  look  at  it.  But  never  mind," 
he  added  with  a  smile ;  "  think  it  over,  and  tell  me 
to-morrow." 

"  No,  I  will  tell  you  now,  since  you  are  willing 
to  wait." 

"  I  was  n't  really  willing  to  wait,  but  I  knew  if 


THE  STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY.  113 

I  did  n't  pretend  to  be  I  should  never  get  it  out  of 
you." 

"  Very  well,  then ;  your  duplicity  is  successful. 
Richard,  I  am  puzzled  where  to  begin  with  your 
oddities." 

"  Begin  at  the  beginning." 

"  No,  I  will  take  the  nearest.  When  a  young 
lady  is  affable  enough  to  read  aloud  to  you,  the 
least  you  can  do  is  to  listen  to  her.  That  is  a  def- 
erence you  owe  to  the  author,  when  it  happens  to 
be  Hawthorne,  to  say  nothing  of  the  young  lady." 

"  But  I  have  been  listening,  Margaret.  Every 
word  ! " 

"  Where  did  I  leave  off  ?  " 

"  It  was  where  —  where  the  "  —  and  Richard 
knitted  his  brows  in  the  vain  effort  to  remember 
—  "  where  the  young  daguerreotypist,  what  's-his- 
name,  took  up  his  residence  in  the  House  of  the 
Seven  Gables." 

"  No,  sir !  You  stand  convicted.  It  was  ten 
pages  further  on.  The  last  words  were," — and 
Margaret  read  from  the  book,  — 

'* '  Good-night,  cousin,'  said  Phoebe,  strangely  af- 
fected by  Hepzibah's  manner.  '  If  you  begin  to 
love  me,  I  am  glad.'  " 

"  There,  sir  1  what  do  you  say  to  that  ?  " 

Richard  did  not   say  anything,  but  he  gave   a 


114  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

guilty  start,  and  shot  a  rapid  glance  at  Margaret 
coolly  enjoying  her  triumph. 

"  In  the  next  place,"  she  continued  soberly,  after 
a  pause,  "  I  think  it  very  odd  in  you  not  to  reply 
to  me,  —  oh,  not  now,  for  of  course  you  are  with- 
out a  word  of  justification  ;  but  at  other  times. 
Frequently,  when  I  speak  to  you,  you  look  at  me 
so,"  making  a  vacant  little  face,  "  and  then  sud- 
denly disappear,  —  I  don't  mean  bodily,  but  men- 
tally." 

"  I  am  no  great  talker  at  best,"  said  Richard 
with  a  helpless  air.  "  I  seldom  speak  unless  I  have 
something  to  say." 

"  But  other  people  do.     I,  for  instance." 

"  Oh,  you,  Margaret ;  that  is  different.  When 
you  talk  I  don't  much  mind  what  you  are  talking 
about." 

"  I  like  a  neat,  delicate  compliment  like  that ! " 

"  What  a  perverse  girl  you  are  to-day ! "  cried 
Richard.  "  You  won't  understand  me.  I  mean 
that  your  words  and  your  voice  are  so  pleasant  they 
make  anything  interesting,  whether  it 's  important 
or  not." 

"  If  no  one  were  to  speak  until  he  had  something 
important  to  communicate,"  observed  Margaret, 
"  conversation  in  this  world  would  come  to  a  gen- 
eral stop."  Then  she  added,  with  a  little  ironical 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  115 

smile,  "Even  you,  Richard,  wouldn't  be  talking 
all  the  time." 

Formerly  Margaret's  light  sarcasms,  even  when 
they  struck  him  point-blank,  used  to  amuse  Rich- 
ard ;  but  now  he  winced  at  being  merely  grazed. 

Margaret  went  on :  "  But  it  'a  not  a  bit  neces- 
sary to  be  oracular  or  instructive  —  with  me.  I 
am  interested  in  trivial  matters,  —  in  the  weather, 
in  my  spring  hat,  in  what  you  are  going  to  do  next, 
and  the  like.  One  must  occupy  one's  self  with 
something.  But  you,  Richard,  nowadays  you  seem 
interested  in  nothing,  and  have  nothing  whatever 
to  say." 

Poor  Richard  !  He  had  a  great  deal  to  say,  but 
he  did  not  know  how,  nor  if  it  were  wise  to  breathe 
it.  Just  three  little  words,  murmured  or  whispered, 
and  the  whole  conditions  would  be  changed.  With 
those  fateful  words  uttered,  what  would  be  Mar- 
garet's probable  attitude,  and  what  Mr.  Slocum's  ? 
Though  the  line  which  formerly  drew  itself  be- 
tween employer  and  employee  had  grown  faint 
with  time,  it  still  existed  in  Richard's  mind,  and 
now  came  to  the  surface  with  great  distinctness, 
like  a  word  written  in  sympathetic  ink.  If  he 
spoke,  and  Margaret  was  startled  or  offended,  then 
there  was  an  end  to  their  free,  unembarrassed  in- 
tercourse, —  perhaps  an  end  to  all  intercourse.  By 


116  THE   STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY. 

keeping  his  secret  locked  in  his  breast  he  at  least 
secured  the  present.  But  that  was  to  risk  every- 
thing. Any  day  somebody  might  come  and  carry 
Margaret  off  under  his  very  eyes.  As  he  reflected 
on  this,  the  shadow  of  John  Dana,  the  son  of  the 
rich  iron-manufacturer,  etched  itself  sharply  upon 
Richard's  imagination.  Within  the  week  young 
Dana  had  declared  in  the  presence  of  Richard  that 
"  Margaret  Slocum  was  an  awfully  nice  little 
thing,"  and  the  Othello  in  Richard's  blood  had 
been  set  seething.  Then  his  thought  glanced  from 
John  Dana  to  Mr.  Pinklmm  and  the  Rev.  Arthur 
Langly,  both  of  whom  were  assiduous  visitors  at 
the  house.  The  former  had  lately  taken  to  accom- 
panying Margaret  on  the  piano  with  his  dismal  lit- 
tle flute,  and  the  latter  was  perpetually  making  a 
moth  of  himself  about  her  class  at  Sunday-school. 

Richard  stood  with  the  edge  of  his  chisel  resting 
idly  upon  the  plaster  mold  in  front  of  him,  ponder- 
ing these  things.  Presently  he  heard  Margaret's 
voice,  as  if  somewhere  in  the  distance,  saying, — 

"  I  have  not  finished  yet,  Richard." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Richard,  falling  to  work  again 
with  a  kind  of  galvanic  action.  "  Go  on,  please." 

"  I  have  a  serious  grievance.  Frankly,  I  am 
hurt  by  your  preoccupation  and  indifference,  your 
want  of  openness  or  cordiality,  —  I  don't  know 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  117 

how  to  name  it.  You  are  the  only  person  who 
seems  to  be  unaware  that  I  escaped  a  great  danger 
a  month  ago.  I  am  obliged  to  remember  all  the 
agreeable  hours  I  have  spent  in  the  studio  to  keep 
off  the  impression  that  during  my  illness  you  got 
used  to  not  se'eing  me,  and  that  now  my  presence 
somehow  obstructs  your  work  and  annoys  you." 

Richard  threw  his  chisel  on  the  bench,  and 
crossed  over  to  the  window  where  Margaret  sat. 

"You  are  as  wrong  as  you  can  be,"  he  said, 
looking  down  on  her  half-lifted  face,  from  which  a 
quick  wave  of  color  was  subsiding;  for  the  ab- 
ruptness of  Richard's  movement  had  startled  her. 

"  I  am  glad  if  I  am  wrong." 

"  It  is  nearly  an  unforgivable  thing  to  be  as  wide 
of  the  mark  as  you  are.  Oh,  Margaret,  if  you  had 
died  that  time  !  " 

"  You  would  have  been  very  sorry  ?  " 

"Sorry?  No.  That  does  n't  express  it;  one 
outlives  mere  sorrow.  If  anything  had  happened 
to  you,  I  should  never  have  got  over  it.  You  don't 
know  what  those  five  weeks  were  to  me.  It  was  a 
kind  of  death  to  come  to  this  room  day  after  day, 
and  not  find  you." 

Margaret  rested  her  eyes  thoughtfully  on  the 
space  occupied  by  Richard  rather  than  on  Richard 
himself,  seeming  to  look  through  and  beyond  him, 
as  if  he  were  incorporeal. 


118  THE  STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  You  missed  me  like  that  ?  "  she  said  slowly. 

"  I  missed  you  like  that." 

Margaret  meditated  a  moment.  "In  the  first 
days  of  iny  illness  I  wondered  if  you  did  n't  miss 
me  a  little ;  afterwards  everything  was  confused  in 
my  mind.  When  I  tried  to  think,  I  seemed  to  be 
somebody  else,  —  I  seemed  to  be  you  waiting  for 
me  here  in  the  studio.  Was  n't  that  singular  ? 
But  when  I  recovered,  and  returned  to  my  old 
place,  I  began  to  suspect  I  had  been  bearing  your 
anxiety,  —  that  I  had  been  distressed  by  the  ab 
sence  to  which  you  had  grown  accustomed." 

"  I  never  got  used  to  it,  Margaret.  It  became 
more  and  more  unendurable.  This  workshop  was 
full  of  —  of  your  absence.  There  was  n't  a  sketch 
or  a  cast  or  an  object  in  the  room  that  did  n't  re- 
mind me  of  you,  and  seem  to  mock  at  me  for  hav- 
ing let  the  most  precious  moments  of  my  life  slip 
away  unheeded.  That  bit  of  geranium  in  the  glass 
yonder  seemed  to  say  with  its  dying  breath,  «  You 
have  cared  for  neither  of  us  as  you  ought  to  have 
cared ;  my  scent  and  her  goodness  have  been  all 
one  to  you,  —  things  to  take  or  to  leave.  It  was 
for  no  merit  of  yours  that  she  was  always  planning 
something  to  make  life  smoother  and  brighter  for 
you.  What  had  you  done  to  deserve  it?  How 
unselfish  and  generous  and  good  she  has  been  to 


THE   STILL  WATER   TRAGEDY.  119 

you  for  years  and  years !  What  would  have  be- 
come of  you  without  her  ?  She  left  me  here  on 
purpose  '  — it  's  the  geranium  leaf  that  is  speaking 
all  the  while,  Margaret  — '  to  say  this  to  you,  and 
to  tell  you  that  she  was  not  half  appreciated ;  and 
now  you  have  lost  her  ! ' ' 

As  she  leaned  forward  listening,  with  her  lips 
slightly  parted,  Margaret  gave  an  unconscious  little 
approbative  nod  of  the  head.  Richard's  fanciful 
accusation  of  himself  caused  her  a  singular  thrill  of 
pleasure.  He  had  never  before  spoken  to  her  in 
just  this  fashion ;  the  subterfuge  which  his  tender- 
ness had  employed,  the  little  detour  it  had  made 
in  order  to  get  at  her,  was  a  novel  species  of  flat- 
tery. She  recognized  the  ring  of  a  distinctly  new 
note  in  his  voice  ;  but,  strangely  enough,  the  note 
lost  its  unfamiliarity  in  an  instant.  Margaret  rec- 
ognized that  fact  also,  and  as  she  swiftly  speculated 
on  the  phenomenon  her  pulse  went  one  or  two 
strokes  faster. 

"  Oh,  you  poor  boy  !  "  she  said,  looking  up  with 
a  laugh  and  a  flush  so  interfused  that  they  seemed 
one,  "  that  geranium  took  a  great  deal  upon  itself. 
It  went  quite  beyond  its  instructions,  which  were 
simply  to  remind  you  of  me  now  and  then.  One 
day,  while  you  were  out,  —  the  day  before  I  was 
taken  ill,  —  I  placed  the  flowers  on  the  desk  there, 


120  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

perhaps  with  a  kind  of  premonition  that  I  was 
going  away  from  you  for  a  time." 

"  What  if  you  had  never  come  back  ! " 

"  I  would  n't  think  of  that  if  I  were  you,"  said 
Margaret  softly. 

'*  But  it  haunts  me,  —  that  thought.  Sometimes 
of  a  morning,  after  I  unlock  the  workshop  door,  I 
stand  hesitating,  with  my  hand  on  the  latch,  as  one 
might  hesitate  a  few  seconds  before  stepping  into 
a  tomb.  There  were  days  last  month,  Margaret, 
when  this  chamber  did  appear  to  me  like  a  tomb. 
All  that  was  happy  in  my  past  seemed  to  lie  buried 
here ;  it  was  something  visible  and  tangible ;  I 
used  to  steal  in  and  look  upon  it." 

"  Oh,  Richard !  " 

"  If  you  only  knew  what  a  life  I  led  as  a  boy  in 
my  cousin's  house,  and  what  a  doleful  existence  for 
years  afterwards,  until  I  found  you,  perhaps  you 
would  understand  my  despair  when  I  saw  every- 
thing suddenly  slipping  away  from  me.  Margaret ! 
the  day  your  father  brought  you  in  here,  I  had  all 
I  could  do  not  to  kneel  down  at  your  feet"  — 
Richard  stopped  short.  "  I  did  n't  mean  to  tell 
you  that,"  he  added,  turning  towards  the  work- 
table.  Then  he  checked  himself,  and  came  and 
stood  in  front  of  her  again.  He  had  gone  too  far 
not  to  go  further.  "  While  you  were  ill  I  made  a 
great  discovery." 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  121 

"  What  was  that,  Richard  ?  " 

"  I  discovered  that  I  had  been  blind  for  two  or 
three  years." 

"  Blind  ?  "  repeated  Margaret. 

"  Stone-blind.  I  discovered  it  by  suddenly  see- 
ing—  by  seeing  that  I  had  loved  you  all  the  while, 
Margaret !  Are  you  offended?  " 

"  No,"  said  Margaret,  slowly  ;  she  was  a  moment 
finding  her  voice  to  say  it.  "I  —  ought  I  to  be 
offended  ?  " 

'*  Not  if  you  are  not !  "  said  Richard. 

"  Then  I  am  not.  I  —  I  've  made  little  discov- 
eries myself,"  murmured  Margaret,  going  into  full 
mourning  with  her  eyelashes. 

But  it  was  only  for  an  instant.  She  refused  to 
take  her  happiness  shyly  or  insincerely  ;  it  was 
something  too  sacred.  She  was  a  trifle  appalled 
by  it,  if  the  truth  must  be  told.  If  Richard  had 
scattered  his  love-making  through  the  month  of 
her  convalescence,  or  if  he  had  made  his  avowal  in 
a  different  mood,  perhaps  Margaret  might  have 
met  him  with  some  natural  coquetry.  But  Rich- 
ard's tone  and  manner  had  been  such  as  to  suppress 
any  instinct  of  the  kind.  His  declaration,  more- 
over, had  amazed  her.  Margaret's  own  feelings 
had  been  more  or  less  plain  to  her  that  past  month, 
and  she  had  diligently  disciplined  herself  to  accept 


122  THE   STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY. 

Richard's  friendship,  since  it  seemed  all  he  had  to 
give.  Indeed,  it  had  seemed  at  times  as  if  he  had 
not  even  that. 

When  Margaret  lifted  her  eyes  to  him,  a  second 
after  her  confession,  they  were  full  of  a  sweet  seri- 
ousness, and  she  had  no  thought  of  withdrawing 
the  hands  which  Richard  had  taken,  and  was  hold- 
ing lightly,  that  she  might  withdraw  them  if  she 
willed.  She  felt  no  impulse  to  do  so,  though  as 
Margaret  looked  up  she  saw  her  father  standing  a 
few  paces  behind  Richard. 

With  an  occult. sense  of  another  presence  in  the 
room,  Richard  turned  at  the  same  instant. 

Mr.  Slocum  had  advanced  two  steps  into  the 
apartment,  and  had  been  brought  to  a  dead  halt  by 
the  surprising  tableau  in  the  embrasure  of  the  win- 
dow. He  stood  motionless,  with  an  account-book 
under  his  arm,  while  a  dozen  expressions  chased 
each  other  over  his  countenance. 

"  Mr.  Slocum,"  said  Richard,  who  saw  that  only 
one  course  lay  open  to  him,  "  I  love  Margaret,  and 
I  have  been  telling  her." 

At  that  the  flitting  shadows  on  Mr.  Slocum's  face 
settled  into  one  grave  look.  He  did  not  reply  im- 
mediately, but  let  his  glance  wander  from  Marga- 
ret to  Richard,  and  back  again  to  Margaret,  slowly 
digesting  the  fact.  It  was  evident  he  had  not  rel- 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  123 

ished  it.  Meanwhile  the  girl  had  risen  from  the 
chair  and  was  moving  towards  her  father. 

"  This  strikes  me  as  very  extraordinary,"  he  said 
at  last.  "  You  have  never  given  any  intimation 
that  such  a  feeling  existed.  How  long  has  this 
been  going  on  ?  " 

"  I  have  always  been  fond  of  Margaret,  sir ;  but 
I  was  not  aware  of  the  strength  of  the  attachment 
until  the  time  of  her  illness,  when  I — that  is,  we 
—  came  so  near  losing  her." 

"  And  you,  Margaret  ?  " 

As  Mr.  Slocum  spoke  he  instinctively  put  one 
arm  around  Margaret,  who  had  crept  closely  to  his 
side. 

"  I  don't  know  when  I  began  to  love  Richard," 
said  Margaret  simply. 

"  You  don't  know  !  " 

"  Perhaps  it  was  while  I  was  ill ;  perhaps  it  was 
long  before  that  ;  may  be  my  liking  for  him  com- 
menced as  far  back  as  the  time  he  made  the  cast  of 
my  hand.  How  can  I  tell,  papa  ?  I  don't  know." 

"  There  appears  to  be  an  amazing  diffusion  of 
ignorance  here !" 

Margaret  bit  her  lip,  and  kept  still.  Her  father 
was  taking  it  a  great  deal  more  seriously  than  she 
had  expected.  A  long,  awkward  silence  ensued. 
Richard  broke  it  at  last  by  remarking  uneasily, 


124  THE   STILL  WATER  TRAGEDY. 

"Nothing  has  been  or  was  to  be  concealed  from 
you.  Before  going  to  sleep  to-night  Margaret 
would  have  told  you  all  I  've  said  to  her." 

"  You  should  have  consulted  with  me  before  say- 
ing anything." 

"  I  intended  to  do  so,  but  my  words  got  away 
from  me.  I  hope  you  will  overlook  it,  sir,  and  not 
oppose  my  loving  Margaret,  though  I  see  as  plainly 
as  you  do  that  I  am  not  worthy  of  her." 

"  I  have  not  said  that.  I  base  my  disapproval 
on  entirely  different  ground.  Margaret  is  too 
young.  A  girl  of  seventeen  or  eighteen  "  — 

"  Nineteen,"  said  Margaret,  parenthetically. 

"  Of  nineteen,  then,  —  has  no  business  to  bother 
her  head  with  such  matters.  Only  yesterday  she 
was  a  child  !  " 

Richard  glanced  across  at  Margaret,  and  endeav- 
ored to  recall  her  as  she  impressed  him  that  first 
afternoon,  when  she  knocked  defiantly  at  the  work- 
shop door  to  inquire  if  he  wanted  any  pans  and 
pails  ;  but  he  was  totally  unable  to  reconstruct  that 
crude  little  figure  with  the  glossy  black  head,  all 
eyes  and  beak,  like  a  young  hawk's. 

"  My  objection  is  impersonal,"  continued  Mr. 
Slocum.  "  I  object  to  the  idea.  I  wish  this  had 
not  happened.  I  might  not  have  disliked  it  — 
years  hence  ;  I  don't  say ;  but  I  dislike  it  now." 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  125 

Richard's  face  brightened.  "  It  will  be  years 
hence  in  a  few  years  !  " 

Mr.  Slocum  replied  with  a  slow,  grave  smile,  "  I 
am  not  going  to  be  unreasonable  in  a  matter  where 
I  find  Margaret's  happiness  concerned ;  and  yours, 
Richard,  I  care  for  that,  too ;  but  I  '11  have  no  en* 
tanglements.  You  and  she  are  to  be  good  friends, 
and  nothing  beyond.  I  prefer  that  Margaret  should 
not  come  to  the  studio  so  often ;  you  shall  see  her 
whenever  you  like  at  our  fireside,  of  an  evening. 
I  don't  think  the  conditions  hard." 

Mr.  Slocum  had  dictated  terms,  but  it  was  vir- 
tually a  surrender.  Margaret  listened  to  him  with 
her  cheek  resting  against  his  arm,  and  a  warm  light 
nestled  down  deep  under  her  eyelids. 

Mr.  Slocum  drew  a  half-pathetic  sigh.  "  I  pre- 
sume I  have  not  done  wisely.  Every  one  bullies 
me.  The  Marble  Workers'  Association  runs  my 
yard  for  me,  and  now  my  daughter  is  taken  off  my 
hands.  By  the  way,  Richard,"  he  said,  interrupt- 
ing himself  brusquely,  and  with  an  air  of  dismiss- 
ing the  subject,  "  I  forgot  what  I  came  for.  I  've 
been  thinking  over  Torrini's  case,  and  have  con- 
cluded that  you  had  better  make  up  his  account 
and  discharge  him." 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  replied  Richard,  with  a  shadow 
of  dissent  in  his  manner,  "if  you  wish  it." 


126  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  He  causes  a  deal  of  trouble  in  the  yard." 

"  I  am  afraid  lie  does.  Such  a  clean  workman 
when  he 's  sober  !  " 

"  But  he  is  never  sober." 

"  He  has  been  in  a  bad  way  lately,  I  admit." 

"  His  example  demoralizes  the  men.  I  can  see 
it  day  by  day." 

"  I  wish  he  were  not  so  necessary  at  this  mo- 
ment," observed  Richard.  "  I  don't  know  who 
else  could  be  trusted  with  the  frieze  for  the  Soldiers' 
Monument.  I  'd  like  to  keep  him  on  a  week  or  ten 
days  longer.  Suppose  I  have  a  plain  talk  with  Tor- 
rini?" 

"  Surely  we  have  enough  good  hands  to  stand  the 
loss  of  one." 

"  For  a  special  kind  of  work  there  is  nobody  in 
the  yard  like  Torrini.  That  is  one  reason  why  I 
want  to  hold  on  to  him  for  a  while,  and  there  are 
other  reasons." 

"  Snch  as  what  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  think  it  would  not  be  wholly  politic  to 
break  with  him  just  now." 

"  Why  not  now  as  well  as  any  time  ?  " 

"  He  has  lately  been  elected  secretary  of  the  As- 
sociation." 

"  What  of  that  ?  " 

"  He  has  a  great  deal  of  influence  there." 


THE   STILLWATEB  TRAGEDY.  127 

"  If  we  put  him  out  of  the  works  it  seems  to  me 
he  would  lose  his  importance,  if  he  really  has  any 
to  speak  of." 

"  You  are  mistaken  if  you  doubt  it.  His  posi- 
tion gives  him  a  chance  to  do  much  mischief,  and 
he  would  avail  himself  of  it  very  adroitly,  if  he 
had  a  personal  grievance." 

"  I  believe  you  are  actually  afraid  of  the  fellow." 
Richard  smiled,  "  No,  I  am  not  afraid  of  him, 
but  I  don't   underrate  him.     The  men  look  up  to 
Torrini   as    a   sort   of    leader  ;    he 's    an   effective 
speaker,  and  knows  very  well  how  to  fan  a  dissat- 
isfaction.    Either  he  or  some  other  disturbing  ele- 
ment has  recently  been  at  work  among  the  men. 
There  's  considerable  grumbling  in  the  yard." 
"  They  are  always  grumbling,  are  n't  they  ?  " 
"  Most   always,  but  this   is   more   serious   than 
usual ;  there  appears  to  be  a  general  stir  among  the 
trades  in  the  village.    I  don't  understand  it  clearly. 
The  marble  workers  have  been  holding  secret  meet- 
ings." 

"  They  mean  business,  you  think  ?  " 
"  They  mean  increased  wages,  perhaps." 
"  But  we  are  now  paying  from  five  to  ten  per 
cent,  more  than  any  trade  in  the  place.     What  are 
they  after  ?  " 

"  So  far  as  I  can  gather,  sir,  the  finishers  and  the 


128  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

slab-sawers  want  an  advance,  —  I  don't  know  how 
much.  Then  there  's  some  talk  about  having  the 
yard  closed  an  hour  earlier  on  Saturdays.  All  this 
is  merely  rumor ;  but  I  am  sure  there  is  something 
in  it." 

"  Confound  the  whole  lot !  If  we  can't  discharge 
d  drunken  hand  without  raising  the  pay  of  all  the 
rest,  we  had  better  turn  over  the  entire  business  to 
the  Association.  But  do  as  you  like,  Richard.  You 
see  how  I  am  bullied,  Margaret.  He  runs  every- 
thing !  Come,  dear." 

And  Mr.  Slocum  quitted  the  workshop,  taking 
Margaret  with  him.  Richard  remained  standing 
awhile  by  the  table,  in  a  deep  study,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  floor.  He  thought  of  his  early  days  in 
the  sepulchral  house  in  Welch's  Court,  of  his  wan- 
derings abroad,  his  long  years  of  toil  since  then,  of 
this  sudden  blissful  love  that  had  come  to  him,  and 
Mr.  Slocum's  generosity.  Then  he  thought  of  Tor- 
rini,  and  went  down  into  the  yard  gently  to  admon- 
ish the  man,  for  Richard's  heart  that  hour  was  full 
of  kindness  for  all  the  world. 


XL 

IN  spite  of  Mr.  Slocum's  stipulations  respecting 
the  frequency  of  Margaret's  visits  to  the  studio,  she 
was  free  to  come  and  go  as  she  liked.  It  was  easy 
for  him  to  say,  Be  good  friends,  and  nothing  be- 
yond ;  but  after  that  day  in  the  workshop  it  was 
impossible  for  Richard  and  Margaret  to  be  any- 
thing but  lovers.  The  hollowness  of  pretending 
otherwise  was  clear  even  to  Mr.  Slocum.  In  the 
love  of  a  father  for  a  daughter  there  is  always  a 
vague  jealousy  which  refuses  to  render  a  coherent 
explanation  of  itself.  Mr.  Slocum  did  not  escape 
this,  but  he  managed,  nevertheless,  to  accept  the  in- 
evitable with  very  fair  grace,  and  presently  to  con- 
fess to  himself  that  the  occurrence  which  had  at 
first  taken  him  aback  was  the  most  natural  in  the 
world.  That  Margaret  and  Richard,  thrown  to- 
gether as  they  had  been,  should  end  by  falling  in 
love  with  each  other  was  not  a  result  to  justify 
much  surprise.  Indeed,  there  was  a  special  propri- 
ety in  their  doing  so.  The  Shackfords  had  always 
been  reputable  people  in  the  village,  —  down  to 
Lemuel  Shackford,  who  of  course  was  an  old  musk- 
9 


130  THE   STILL  WATER  TRAGEDY. 

rat.  The  family  attributes  of  amiability  and  hon- 
esty had  skipped  him,  but  they  had  reappeared  in 
Richard.  It  was  through  his  foresight  and  personal 
energy  that  the  most  lucrative  branch  of  the  trade 
had  been  established.  His  services  entitled  him  to 
a  future  interest  in  the  business,  and  Mr.  Slocum 
had  intended  he  should  have  it.  Mr.  Slocum  had 
not  dreamed  of  throwing  in  Margaret  also  ;  but 
since  that  addition  had  suggested  itself,  it  seemed 
to  him  one  of  the  happy  features  of  the  arrange- 
ment. Richard  would  thus  be  doubly  identified 
with  the  yard,  to  which,  in  fact,  he  had  become 
more  necessary  than  Mr.  Slocum  himself. 

"  He  has  more  backbone  with  the  men  than  I 
have,"  acknowledged  Mr.  Slocum.  "  He  knows 
how  to  manage  them,  and  I  don't." 

As  soft  as  Slocum  was  a  Stillwater  proverb. 
Richard  certainly  had  plenty  of  backbone ;  it  was 
his  only  capital.  In  Mr.  Slocum's  estimation  it  was 
sufficient  capital.  But  Lemuel  Shackford  was  a 
very  rich  man,  and  Mr.  Slocum  could  not  avoid 
seeing  that  it  would  be  decent  in  Richard's  only 
surviving  relative  if,  at  this  juncture,  he  were  to 
display  a  little  interest  in  the  young  fellow's  wel- 
fare. 

"  If  he  would  only  offer  to  advance  a  few  thou- 
sand dollars  for  Richard,"  said  Mr.  Slocum,  one 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  131 

evening,  to  Margaret,  with  whom  he  had  been  talk- 
ing  over  the  future,  —  "  the  property  must  all  come 
to  him  some  time,  —  it  would  be  a  vast  satisfaction 
to  me  to  tell  the  old  man  that  we  can  get  along 
without  any  of  his  ill-gotten  gains.  He  made  the 
bulk  of  his  fortune  during  the  war,  you  know.  The 
old  sea-serpent,"  continued  Mr.  Slocum,  with  hope- 
less confusion  of  metaphor,  "had  a  hand  in  fitting 
out  more  than  one  blockade-runner.  They  used  to 
talk  of  a  ship  that  got  away  from  Charleston  with 
a  cargo  of  cotton  that  netted  the  share-holders 
upwards  of  two  hundred  thousand  dollars.  He 
denies  it  now,  but  everybody  knows  Shackford. 
He  'd  betray  his  country  for  fifty  cents  in  post- 
age-stamps." 

"  Oh,  papa  !  you  are  too  hard  on  him." 
In  words  dropped  cursorily  from  time  to  time, 
Margaret  imparted  to  Richard  the  substance  of  her 
father's  speech,  and  it  set  Richard  reflecting.  It 
was  not  among  the  probabilities  that  Lemuel  Shack- 
ford  would  advance  a  dollar  to  establish  Richard, 
but  if  he  could  induce  his  cousin  even  to  take  the 
matter  into  consideration,  Richard  felt  that  it  would 
be  a  kind  of  moral  support  to  him  circumstanced  as 
he  was.  His  pride  revolted  at  the  idea  of  coming 
quite  unbacked  and  disowned,  as  well  as  empty- 
handed,  to  Mr.  Slocum. 


132  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

For  the  last  twelve  months  there  had  been  a  ces- 
sation of  ordinary  courtesies  between  the  two  cous- 
ins. They  now  passed  each  other  on  the  street 
without  recognition.  A  year  previously  Mr.  Shack- 
ford  had  fallen  ill,  and  Richard,  aware  of  the  ineffi- 
cient domestic  arrangements  in  Welch's  Court,  had 
gone  to  the  house  out  of  sheer  pity.  The  old  man 
was  in  bed,  and  weak  with  fever,  but  at  seeing 
Richard  he  managed  to  raise  himself  on  one  elbow. 

"  Oh,  it  's  you  !  "  he  exclaimed,  mockingly. 
"  When  a  rich  man  is  sick  the  anxious  heirs  crowd 
around  him  ;  but  they  're  twice  as  honestly  anxious 
when  he  is  perfectly  well." 

"  I  came  to  see  if  I  could  do  anything  for  you!  " 
cried  Richard,  with  a  ferocious  glare,  and  in  a  tone 
that  went  curiously  with  his  words,  and  shook  to 
the  foundations  his  character  of  Good  Samaritan. 

"  The  only  thing  you  can  do  for  me  is  to  go 
away." 

"  I  '11  do  that  with  pleasure,"  retorted  Richard 
bitterly. 

And  Richard  went,  vowing  he  would  never  set 
foot  across  the  threshold  again.  He  could  not  help 
having  ugly  thoughts.  Why  should  all  the  efforts 
to  bring  about  a  reconciliation  and  all  the  forbear- 
ance be  on  his  side  ?  Thenceforth  the  crabbed  old 
man  might  go  to  perdition  if  he  wanted  to. 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  133 

And  now  here  was  Richard  meditating  a  visit  to 
that  same  house  to  beg  a  favor ! 

Nothing  but  his  love  for  Margaret  could  have 
dragged  him  to  such  a  banquet  of  humble-pie  as  he 
knew  was  spread  for  his  delectation,  the  morning 
he  passed  up  the  main  street  of  Stilhvater  and 
turned  into  Welch's  Court. 

As  Richard  laid  his  hand  on  the  latch  of  the  gate, 
Mr.  Shackford,  who  was  digging  in  the  front  gar- 
den, looked  up  and  saw  him.  Without  paying  any 
heed  to  Richard's  amicable  salutation,  the  old  man 
left  the  shovel  sticking  in  the  sod,  and  walked  stiffly 
into  the  house.  At  another  moment  this  would 
have  amused  Richard,  but  now  he  gravely  followed 
his  kinsman,  and  overtook  him  at  the  foot  of  the 
staircase. 

"  Cousin  Shackford,  can  you  spare  me  five  or  ten 
minutes  ?  " 

"  Don't  know  as  I  can,"  said  Mr.  Shackford,  with 
one  foot  on  the  lower  stair.  "  Time  is  valuable. 
What  do  you  want  ?  You  want  something." 

"  Certainly,  or  I  would  n't  think  of  trespassing 
on  your  time." 

"  Has  Slocum  thrown  you  over  ?  "  inquired  the 
old  man,  turning  quickly.  A  straw  which  he  held 
between  his  thin  lips  helped  to  give  him  a  singu- 
larly alert  expression. 


134  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"No;  Mr.  Slocum  and  I  agree  the  best  in  the 
world.  I  want  to  talk  with  you  briefly  on  certain 
matters  ;  I  want  to  be  on  decent  terms  with  you,  if 
you  will  let  me." 

"  Decent  terms  means  money,  does  n't  it?  "  asked 
Mr.  Shackford,  with  a  face  as  wary  and  lean  as  a 
shark's. 

"  I  do  wish  to  talk  about  money,  among  other 
things,"  returned  Richard,  whom  this  brutal  direct- 
ness disconcerted  a  little,  —  "  money  on  satisfactory 
security." 

"  You  can  get  it  anywhere  with  that." 

"  So  I  might,  and  be  asking  no  favor ;  but  I 
would  rather  get  it  of  you,  and  consider  it  an  obli- 
gation." 

"  I  would  rather  you  would  n't." 

"  Listen  to  me  a  moment." 

"Well,  I'm  listening." 

Mr.  Shackford  stood  in  an  attitude  of  attention, 
with  his  head  canted  on  one  side,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  ceiling,  and  the  straw  between  his  teeth  tilted 
up  at  an  angle  of  forty  degrees. 

"  I  have,  as  you  know,  worked  my  way  in  the 
marble  yard  to  the  position  of  general  manager," 
began  Richard. 

'•  I  did  n't  know,"  said  Mr.  Shackford,  «  but  I 
understand.  You're  a  sort  of  head  grave-stone 
maker." 


THE   STILL  WATER   TRAGEDY.  135 

"  That  is  taking  rather  a  gloomy  view  of  it," 
said  Richard,  "  but  no  matter.  The  point  is,  I  hold 
a  responsible  position,  and  I  now  have  a  chance  to 
purchase  a  share  in  the  works." 

"  Slocum  is  willing  to  take  you  in,  eh  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Then  the  concern  is  hit." 

"Hit?" 

"  Slocum  is  going  into  bankruptcy." 

"  You  are  wrong  there.  The  yard  was  never  so 
prosperous  ;  the  coming  year  we  shall  coin  money 
like  a  mint." 

"  You  ought  to  know,"  said  Mr.  Shackford,  ru- 
minatively.  "  A  thing  as  good  as  a  mint  must  be  a 
good  thing." 

"  If  I  were  a  partner  in  the  business,  I  could 
marry  Margaret." 

"Who's  Margaret?" 

"  Mr.  Slocum's  daughter." 

"  That 's  where  the  wind  is  !  Now  how  much 
capital  would  it  take  to  do  all  that?"  inquired  Mr. 
Shackford,  with  an  air  of  affable  speculation. 

"  Three  or  four  thousand  dollars,  —  perhaps 
less." 

"  Well,  I  would  n't  give  three  or  four  cents  to 
have  you  marry  Slocum's  daughter.  Richard,  you 
can't  pull  any  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire  with  my 
paw." 


136  THE   STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY. 

Mr.  Shackford's  interrogations  and  his  more  than 
usual  conciliatory  manner  had  lighted  a  hope  which 
Richard  had  not  brought  with  him.  Its  sudden 
extinguishment  was  in  consequence  doubly  aggra- 
vating. 

"  Slocum's  daughter  !  "  repeated  Mr.  Shackford. 
"  I  'd  as  soon  you  would  marry  Crazy  Nan  up  at  the 
work-house." 

The  association  of  Crazy  Nan  with  Margaret  sent 
a  red  flush  into  Richard's  cheek.  He  turned  an- 
grily towards  the  door,  and  then  halted,  recollecting 
the  resolves  he  had  made  not  to  lose  his  temper, 
come  what  would.  If  the  interview  was  to  end 
there  it  had  better  not  have  taken  place. 

"  I  had  no  expectation  that  you  would  assist  me 
pecuniarily,"  said  Richard,  after  a  moment.  "  Let 
us  drop  the  money  question  ;  it  should  n't  have  come 
up  between  us.  I  want  you  to  aid  me,  not  by  lend- 
ing me  money,  but  by  giving  me  your  countenance 
as  the  head  of  the  family,  —  by  showing  a  natural 
interest  in  my  affairs,  and  seeming  disposed  to  pro- 
mote them." 

"By  just  seeming?  " 

"  That  is  really  all  I  desire.  If  you  were  to  pro- 
pose to  put  capital  into  the  concern,  Mr.  Slocum 
would  refuse  it." 

"  Slocum  would  refuse  it  I  Why  in  the  devil 
should  he  refuse  it  ?  " 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  137 

"  Because  "  —  Richard  hesitated,  finding  himself 
unexpectedly  on  delicate  ground  —  "  because  he 
would  not  care  to  enter  into  business  relations  with 
you,  under  the  circumstances." 

Mr.  Shackford  removed  the  straw  from  his 
mouth,  and  holding  it  between  his  thumb  and  fore- 
finger peered  steadily  through  his  half-closed  eye- 
lids at  Richard. 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  The  dispute  you  had  long  ago,  over  the  piece 
of  meadow  land  behind  the  marble  yard.  Mr.  Slo- 
cuni  felt  that  you  bore  on  him  rather  heavily  in 
that  matter,  and  has  not  quite  forgiven  you  for  forc- 
ing him  to  rebuild  the  sheds." 

"  Bother  Slocum  and  his  sheds !  I  understand 
him.  What  I  don't  understand  is  you.  I  am  to  of- 
fer Slocum  three  or  four  thousand  dollars  to  set  you 
up,  and  he  is  to  decline  to  take  it.  Is  that  it  ?  " 

"  That  is  not  it  at  all,"  returned  Richard.  "  My 
statement  was  this  :  If  you  were  to  propose  pur- 
chasing a  share  for  me  in  the  works,  Mr.  Slocum 
would  not  entertain  the  proposition,  thinking  —  as 
I  don't  think  —  that  he  would  mortify  you  by  the 
refusal  of  your  money." 

"  The  only  way  Slocum  could  mortify  me  would 
be  by  getting  hold  of  it.  But  what  are  you  driving 
at,  anyhow?  In  one  breath  you  demand  several 


138  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

thousand  dollars,  and  in  the  next  breath  you  tell 
me  that  nobody  expects  it,  or  wants  it,  or  could  be 
induced  to  have  it  on  any  terms.  Perhaps  you  will 
inform  me  what  you  are  here  for." 

"  That  is  what  you  will  never  discover  !  "  cried 
Richard.  "  It  is  not  in  you  to  comprehend  the  ties 
of  sympathy  that  ought  to  hold  between  two  persons 
situated  as  we  are.  In  most  families  this  sympathy 
binds  closely  at  times,  —  at  christenings,  or  burials, 
or  when  some  member  is  about  to  take  an  impor- 
tant step  in  life.  Generally  speaking,  blood  is 
thicker  than  water ;  but  your  blood,  cousin  Shack- 
ford,  seems  to  be  a  good  deal  thinner.  I  came  here 
to  consult  with  you  as  my  sole  remaining  kinsman, 
as  one  authorized  by  years  and  position  to  give  me 
wise  counsel  and  kindly  encouragement  at  the  turn- 
ing point  in  my  fortune.  I  did  n't  wish  to  go 
among  those  people  like  a  tramp,  with  neither  kith 
nor  kin  to  say  a  word  for  me.  Of  course  you  don't 
understand  that.  How  should  you  ?  A  sentiment 
of  that  kind  is  something  quite  beyond  your  concep- 
tion." 

Richard's  words  went  into  one  ear  and  out  the 
other,  without  seeming  for  an  instant  to  arrest  Mr. 
Shackford's  attention.  The  idea  of  Slocum  not  ac- 
cepting money  —  anybody's  money  —  presented  it- 
self to  Mr.  Shackford  in  so  facetious  a  light  as 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  139 

nearly  to  throw  him  into  good  humor.  His  foot 
was  on  the  first  step  of  the  staircase,  which  he  now 
began  slowly  to  mount,  giving  vent,  as  he  ascended, 
to  a  series  of  indescribable  chuckles.  At  the  top  of 
the  landing  he  halted,  and  leaned  over  the  rail. 

"  To  think  of  Slocum  refusing,  —  that 's  a  good 
one  !  " 

In  the  midst  of  his  jocularity  a  sudden  thought 
seemed  to  strike  Mr.  Shackford ;  his  features  under- 
went a  swift  transformation,  and  as  he  grasped  the 
rail  in  front  of  him  with  both  hands  a  malicious 
cunning  writhed  and  squirmed  in  every  wrinkle  of 
his  face. 

"  Sir  !  "  he  shrieked,  "  it  was  a  trap  !  Slocum 
would  have  taken  it !  If  I  had  been  ass  enough  to 
make  any  such  offer,  he  would  have  jumped  at  it. 
What  do  you  and  Slocum  take  me  for  ?  You  're  a 
pair  of  rascals  !  " 

Richard  staggered  back,  bewildered  and  blinded, 
as  if  he  had  received  a  blow  in  the  eyes. 

**  No,"  continued  Mr.  Shackford,  with  a  gesture 
of  intense  contempt,  "  you  are  less  than  rascals. 
You  are  fools.  A  rascal  has  to  have  brains  !  " 

"  You  shameless  old  man  !  "  cried  Richard,  as 
soon  as  he  could  get  his  voice. 

To  do  Mr.  Shackford  justice,  he  was  thoroughly 
convinced  that  Richard  had  lent  himself  to  a  pre- 


140  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

posterous  attempt  to  obtain  money  from  him.  The 
absence  of  ordinary  shrewdness  in  the  method 
stamped  it  at  once  as  belonging  to  Slocum,  of  whose 
mental  calibre  Mr.  Shackford  entertained  no  flat- 
tering estimate. 

"  Slocum  !  "  he  muttered,  grinding  the  word  be- 
tween his  teeth.  "  Family  ties  !  "  he  cried,  hurl- 
ing the  words  scornfully  over  the  banister  as  he 
disappeared  into  one  of  the  upper  chambers. 

Richard  stood  with  one  hand  on  the  newel-post, 
white  at  the  lip  with  rage.  For  a  second  he  had  a 
wild  impulse  to  spring  up  the  staircase,  but,  con- 
trolling this,  he  turned  and  hurried  out  of  the 
house. 

At  the  gate  he  brushed  roughly  against  a  girl, 
who  halted  and  stared.  It  was  a  strange  thing 
to  see  Mr.  Richard  Shackford,  who  always  had  a 
pleasant  word  for  a  body,  go  by  in  that  blind,  ex- 
cited fashion,  striking  one  fist  into  the  palm  of  the 
other  hand,  and  talking  to  his  own  self !  Mary 
Hennessey  watched  him  until  he  wheeled  out  of 
Welch's  Court,  and  then  picking  up  her  basket, 
which  she  had  rested  on  the  fence,  went  her  way. 


XII. 

AT  the  main  entrance  to  the  marble  works  Rich- 
ard nearly  walked  over  a  man  who  was  coming  out, 
intently  mopping  his  forehead  with  a  very  dirty 
calico  handkerchief.  It  was  an  English  stone-dresser 
named  Denyven.  Richard  did  not  recognize  him 
at  first. 

"  That  you,  Denyven !  .  .  .  what  has  hap- 
pened?" 

"  I  've  'ad  a  bit  of  a  scrimmage,  sir." 

"  A  scrimmage  in  the  yard,  in  work  hours  I  " 

The  man  nodded. 

"  With  whom  ?  " 

"  Torrini,  sir,  —  he  's  awful  bad  this  day." 

"  Torrini,  —  it  is  always  Torrini !  It  seems  odd 
that  one  man  should  be  everlastingly  at  the  bottom 
of  everything  wrong.  How  did  it  happen  ?  Give 
it  to  me  straight,  Denyven ;  I  don't  want  a  crooked 
story.  This  thing  has  got  to  stop  in  Slocum's 
Yard." 

"  The  way  of  it  was  this,  sir  :  Torrini  was  n't  at 
the  shop  the  morning.  He  'ad  a  day  off." 

"  I  know." 


142  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  But  about  one  o'clock,  sir,  he  come  in  the  yard. 
He  'ad  been  at  the  public  'ouse,  sir,  and  he  was 
hummin'.  First  he  went  among  the  carvers,  talk- 
ing Hitalian  to  'em  and  making  'em  laugh,  though 
he  was  in  a  precious  bad  humor  hisself.  By  and  by 
he  come  over  to  where  me  and  my  mates  was,  and 
began  chaffin'  us,  which  we  did  n't  mind  it,  seeing 
he  was  'eavy  in  the  'ead.  He  was  as  clear  as  a  fog- 
'orn  all  the  same.  But  when  he  took  to  banging 
the  tools  on  the  blocks,  I  sings  out,  *  'Ands  off ! ' 
and  then  he  fetched  me  a  clip.  I  was  never  look- 
ing for  nothing  less  than  that  he  'd  hit  me.  I  was 
a  smiling  at  the  hinstant." 

"  He  must  be  drunker  than  usual." 

"  Hevidently,  sir.  I  went  down  between  two 
slabs  as  soft  as  you  please.  When  I  got  on  my 
pins,  I  was  for  choking  him  a  bit,  but  my  mates 
hauled  us  apart.  That's  the  'ole  of  it,  sir.  They  '11 
tell  you  the  same  within." 

"  Are  you  hurt,  Deny  ven  ?  " 

"  Only  a  bit  of  a  scratch  over  the  heye,  sir,  — 
and  the  nose,"  and  the  man  began  mopping  his 
brow  tenderly.  "  I  'd  like  to  'ave  that  Hitalian  for 
about  ten  minutes,  soaie  day  when  he  's  sober,  over 
yonder  on  the  green." 

"  I  'm  afraid  he  would  make  the  ten  minutes 
seem  long  to  you." 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  143 

"  Well,  sir,  I  'd  willingly  let  him  try  his  'and." 
"How  is  it,  Denyven,"  said  Richard,  "  that  you, 
and  sensible  workingmen  like  you,  have  permitted 
such  a  quarrelsome  and  irresponsible  fellow  to  be- 
come a  leader  in  the  Association  ?  He  's  secretary, 
or  something,  is  n't  he  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  he  writes  an  uncommonly  clean  fist, 
and  then  he  's  a  born  horator.  He 's  up  to  all  the 
parli'mentary  dodges.  Must  'ave  'ad  no  end  of 
hexperience  in  them  sort  of  things  on  the  other 
side." 

"  No  doubt,  —  and  that  accounts  for  him  being 
over  here." 

"  As  for  horganizing  a  meeting,  sir  "  — 
"  I  know.  Torrini  has  a  great  deal  of  that  kind 
of  ability ;  perhaps  a  trifle  too  much  for  his  own 
good  or  anybody  else's.  There  was  never  any 
trouble  to  speak  of  among  the  trades  in  Stillwater 
till  he  and  two  or  three  others  came  here  with  for- 
eign grievances.  These  men  get  three  times  the 
pay  they  ever  received  in  their  own  land,  and  are 
treated  like  human  beings  for  the  first  time  in  their 
lives.  But  what  do  they  do  ?  They  squander  a 
quarter  of  their  week's  wages  at  the  tavern,  —  no 
rich  man  could  afford  to  put  a  fourth  of  his  income 
into  drink,  —  and  make  windy  speeches  at  the 
Union.  I  don't  say  all  of  them,  but  too  many  of 


144  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

them.  The  other  night,  I  understand,  Torrini 
compared  Mr.  Slocum  to  Nero,  —  Mr.  Slocum,  the 
fairest  and  gentlest  man  that  ever  breathed  I  What 
rubbish!" 

"It  wasn't  just  that  way,  sir.  His  words  was, 
and  I  'card  him, — 'from  Nero  down  to  Slocum.  " 

"  It  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  and  is  enough  to 
make  one  laugh,  if  it  didn't  make  one  want  to 
swear.  I  hear  that  that  was  a  very  lively  meeting 
the  other  night.  What  was  that  nonsense  about 
'  the  privileged  class '  ?  " 

"  Well,  there  is  a  privileged  class  in  the  States." 

41  So  there  is,  but  it 's  a  large  class,  Deny  ven. 
Every  soul  of  us  has  the  privilege  of  bettering  our 
condition  if  we  have  the  brain  and  the  industry  to 
do  it.  Energy  and  intelligence  come  to  the  front, 
and  have  the  right  to  be  there.  A  skillful  work- 
man gets  double  the  pay  of  a  bungler,  and  deserves 
it.  Of  course  there  will  always  be  rich  and  poor, 
and  sick  and  sound,  and  I  don't  see  how  that  can  be 
changed.  But  no  door  is  shut  against  ability,  black 
or  white.  Before  the  year  2400  we  shall  have  a 
chrome-yellow  president  and  a  blaek-and-tan  secre- 
tary of  the  treasury.  But,  seriously,  Denyven, 
whoever  talks  about  privileged  classes  here  does  it 
to  make  mischief.  There  are  certain  small  politi- 
cians who  reap  their  harvest  in  times  of  public  con- 


8U( 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  145 

fusion,  just  aa  pickpockets  do.  Nobody  can  play 
the  tyrant  or  the  bully  in  this  country,  —  not  even 
a  workingman.  Here 's  the  Association  dead  against 
an  employer  who,  two  years  ago,  ran  his  yard  full- 
handed  for  a  twelvemonth  at  a  loss,  rather  than 
shut  down,  as  every  other  mill  and  factory  in  Still- 
water  did.  For  years  and  years  the  Association 
has  prevented  this  employer  from  training  more 
than  two  apprentices  annually.  The  result  is, 
eighty  hands  find  work,  instead  of  a  hundred  and 
eighty.  Now,  that  can't  last." 

"  It  keeps  wages  fixed  in  Stillwater,  sir." 

"It  keeps  out  a  hundred  workmen.  It  sends 
away  capital." 

"  Torrini  says,  sir  "  — 

"  Steer  clear  of  Torrini  and  what  he  says.  He  'a 
a  dangerous  fellow  —  for  his  friends.  It  is  hand- 
some in  you,  Denyven,  to  speak  up  for  him  —  with 
that  eye  of  yours." 

"Oh,  I  don't  love  the  man,  when  it  comes  to 
that ;  but  there  's  no  denying  he 's  right  smart," 
replied  Denyven,  who  occasionally  marred  his  ver- 
nacular with  Americanisms.  **  The  Association 
could  n't  do  without  him." 

"  But  Slocum's  Yard  can,"  said  Richard,  irritated 
to  observe  the  influence  Torrini  exerted  on  even 
such  men  as  Denyven. 


146  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  That's  between  you  and  him,  sir,  of  course, 
but"- 

«  But  what  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  I  can't  say  hexactly ;  but  if  I  was 
you  I  would  bide  a  bit." 

"  No,  I  think  Ton-mi's  time  has  come." 

"  I  don't  make  bold  to  advise  you,  sir.  I  merely 
throws  out  the  hobservation." 

With  that  Denyven  departed  to  apply  to  his 
bruises  such  herbs  and  simples  as  a  long  experience 
had  taught  him  to  be  efficacious. 

He  had  gone  only  a  few  rods,  however,  when  it 
occurred  to  him  that  there  were  probabilities  of  a 
stormy  scene  in  the  yard ;  so  he  turned  on  his 
tracks,  and  followed  Richard  Shackford. 

Torrini  was  a  Neapolitan,  who  had  come  to  this 
country  seven  or  eight  years  before.  He  was  a  man 
above  the  average  intelligence  of  his  class  ;  a  mar- 
ble worker  by  trade,  but  he  had  been  a  fisherman, 
a  mountain  guide  among  the  Abruzzi,  a  soldier  in 
the  papal  guard,  and  what  not,  and  had  contrived 
to  pick  up  two  or  three  languages,  among  the  rest 
English,  which  he  spoke  with  purity.  His  lingual 
gift  was  one  of  his  misfortunes. 

Among  the  exotics  in  Stillwater,  which  even 
boasted  a  featureless  Celestial,  who  had  unobtru- 
sively extinguished  himself  with  a  stove-pipe  hat, 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  147 

Torrini  was  the  only  figure  that  approached  pictu- 
resqueness.  With  his  swarthy  complexion  and 
large,  indolent  eyes,  in  which  a  southern  ferocity 
slept  lightly,  he  seemed  to  Richard  a  piece  out  of 
his  own  foreign  experience.  To  him  Torrini  was 
the  crystallization  of  Italy,  or  so  much  of  that  Italy 
as  Richard  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  at  Genoa.  To 
the  town-folks  Torrini  perhaps  vaguely  suggested 
hand-organs  and  eleemosynary  pennies  ;  but  Rich- 
ard never  looked  at  the  straight-limbed,  handsome 
fellow  without  recalling  the  Phrygian-capped  sail- 
ors of  the  Mediterranean.  On  this  account,  and 
for  other  reasons,  Richard  had  taken  a  great  fancy 
to  the  man.  Torrini  had  worked  in  the  ornamental 
department  from  the  first,  and  was  a  rapid  and  ex- 
pert carver  when  he  chose.  'He  had  carried  himself 
steadily  enough  in  the  beginning,  but  in  these  later 
days,  as  Mr.  Slocum  had  stated,  he  was  scarcely 
ever  sober.  Richard  had  stood  between  him  and 
bis  discharge  on  several  occasions,  partly  because  he 
was  so  skillful  a  workman,  and  partly  through  pity 
for  his  wife  and  children,  who  were  unable  to  speak 
a  word  of  English.  But  Torrini's  influence  on  the 
men  in  the  yard,  —  especially  on  the  younger  hands, 
who  needed  quite  other  influences,  —  and  his  intem- 
perate speeches  at  the  trades-union,  where  he  had 
recently  gained  a  kind  of  ascendency  by  his  daring, 
were  producing  the  worst  effects. 


148  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

At  another  hour  Richard  might  have  been  in- 
clined to  condone  this  last  offense,  as  he  had  con- 
doned others ;  but  when  he  parted  from  Denyven, 
Richard's  heart  was  still  hot  with  his  cousin's  in- 
sult. As  he  turned  into  the  yard,  not  with  his  usual 
swinging  gait,  but  with  a  quick,  wide  step,  there 
was  an  unpleasant  dilation  about  young  Shack- 
ford's  nostrils. 

Torrini  was  seated  on  a  block  of  granite  in  front 
of  the  upper  sheds,  flourishing  a  small  chisel  in  one 
hand  and  addressing  the  men,  a  number  of  whom 
had  stopped  work  to  listen  to  him.  At  sight  of 
Richard  they  made  a  show  of  handling  their  tools, 
but  it  was  so  clear  something  grave  was  going  to 
happen  that  the  pretense  fell  through.  They  re- 
mained motionless,  resting  on  their  mallets,  with 
their  eyes  turned  towards  Richard.  Torrini  fol- 
lowed the  general  glance,  and  paused  in  his  ha- 
rangue. 

"  Talk  of  the  devil !  "  he  muttered,  and  then,  ap- 
parently continuing  the  thread  of  his  discourse, 
broke  into  a  strain  of  noisy  declamation. 

Richard  walked  up  to  him  quietly. 

"Torrini,"  he  said,  "you  can't  be  allowed  to 
speak  here,  you  know." 

"  I  can  speak  where  I  like,"  replied  Torrini 
gravely.  He  was  drunk,  but  the  intoxication  was 


THE  STILLWATER   TBAGEDY.  149 

not  in  his  tongue.  His  head,  as  Denyven  had  as- 
serted, was  as  clear  as  a  fog-horn. 

"  When  you  are  sober,  you  can  come  to  the  desk 
and  get  your  pay  and  your  kit.  You  are  discharged 
from  the  yard." 

Richard  was  standing  within  two  paces  of  the 
man,  who  looked  up  with  an  uncertain  smile,  as 
if  he  had  not  quite  taken  in  the  sense  of  the 
words.  Then,  suddenly  straightening  himself,  he 
exclaimed,  — 

"  Slocum  don't  dare  do  it !  " 

"  But  I  do." 

«  You  I  " 

"  When  I  do  a  thing  Mr.  Slocum  backs  me." 

"  But  who  backs  Slocum,  —  the  Association,  may 
be?" 

"  Certainly  the  Association  ought  to.  I  want 
you  to  leave  the  yard  now." 

"  He  backs  Slocum,"  said  Torrini,  settling  him- 
self on  the  block  again,  "  and  Slocum  backs  down," 
at  which  there  was  a  laugh  among  the  men. 

Richard  made  a  step  forward. 

"  Hands  off  ! "  cried  a  voice  from  under  the 
sheds. 

"  Who  said  that  ?  "  demanded  Richard,  wheeling 
around.  No  one  answered,  but  Richard  had  recog- 
nized Durgin's  voice.  "  Torrini,  if  you  don't  quit 


150  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

the  yard  in  two  minutes  by  the  clock  yonder,  I 
shall  put  you  out  by  the  neck.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

Torrini  glared  about  him  confusedly  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  broke  into  voluble  Italian ;  then,  with- 
out a  warning  gesture,  sprung  to  his  feet  and  struck 
at  Richard.  A  straight  red  line,  running  vertically 
the  length  of  his  cheek,  showed  where  the  chisel 
had  grazed  him.  The  shops  were  instantly  in  a 
tumult,  the  men  dropping  their  tools  and  stumbling 
over  the  blocks,  with  cries  of  "  Keep  them  apart ! " 
"  Shame  on  you !  "  "  Look  out,  Mr.  Shackford !  " 

"  Is  it  mad  ye  are,  Torrany  !  "  cried  Michael 
Hennessey,  hurrying  from  the  saw-bench.  Durgin 
held  him  back  by  the  shoulders. 

"  Let  them  alone,"  said  Durgin. 

The  flat  steel  flashed  again  in  the  sunlight,  but 
fell  harmlessly,  and  before  the  blow  could  be  re- 
peated Richard  had  knitted  his  fingers  in  Torrini's 
neckerchief  and  twisted  it  so  tightly  that  the  man 
gasped.  Holding  him  by  this,  Richard  dragged 
Torrini  across  the  yard,  and  let  him  drop  on  the 
sidewalk  outside  the  gate,  where  he  lay  in  a  heap, 
inert. 

"  That  was  nate,"  said  Michael  Hennessey,  sen- 
tentiously. 

Richard  stood  leaning  on  the  gate-post  to  recover 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  151 

his  breath.  His  face  was  colorless,  and  the  crimson 
line  defined  itself  sharply  against  the  pallor ;  but 
the  rage  was  dead  within  him.  It  had  been  one  of 
his  own  kind  of  rages,  —  like  lightning  out  of  a 
blue  sky.  As  he  stood  there  a  smile  was  slowly 
gathering  on  his  lip. 

A  score  or  two  of  the  men  had  followed  him,  and 
now  lounged  in  a  half-circle  a  few  paces  in  the  rear. 
When  Richard  was  aware  of  their  presence,  the 
glow  came  into  his  eyes  again. 

"  Who  ordered  you  to  knock  off  work  ?  " 

"  That  was  a  foul  blow  of  Torrini's,  sir,"  said 
Stevens,  stepping  forward,  "  and  I  for  one  come  to 
see  fair  play." 

"  Give  us  your  'and,  mate  !  "  cried  Denyven  ; 
"  there 's  a  pair  of  us." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Richard,  softening  at  once,  "  but 
there  's  no  need.  Every  man  can  go  to  his  job. 
Denyven  may  stay,  if  he  likes." 

The  men  lingered  a  moment,  irresolute,  and  re- 
turned to  the  sheds  in  silence. 

Presently  Torrini  stretched  out  one  leg,  then  the 
other,  and  slowly  rose  to  his  feet,  giving  a  stupid 
glance  at  his  empty  hands  as  he  did  so. 

"  Here  's  your  tool,"  said  Richard,  stirring  the 
ihisel  with  the  toe.  of  his  boot,  "  if  that 's  what 
you  're  looking  for." 


152  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

Torrini  advanced  a  step  as  if  to  pick  it  up,  then 
appeared  to  alter  his  mind,  hesitated  perhaps  a 
dozen  seconds,  and  turning  abruptly  on  his  heel 
walked  down  the  street  without  a  stagger. 

"I  think  his  legs  is  shut  off  from  the  rest  of 
his  body  by  water-tight  compartments,"  remarked 
Denyven,  regarding  Torrini's  steady  gait  with  min- 
gled amusement  and  envy.  "  Are  you  hurt,  sir  ?  " 

"  Only  a  bit  of  a  scratch  over  the  heye,"  replied 
Richard,  with  a  laugh. 

"  As  I  hobserved  just  now  to  Mr.  Stevens,  sir, 
there  's  a  pair  of  us  !  " 


XIII. 

AFTER  a  turn  through  the  shops  to  assure  him- 
self that  order  was  restored,  Richard  withdrew  in 
the  direction  of  his  studio.  Margaret  was  standing 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  half  hidden  by  the  scarlet 
creeper  which  draped  that  end  of  the  veranda. 

"  What  are  you  doing  there  ? "  said  Richard 
looking  up  with  a  bright  smile. 

"  Oh,  Richard,  I  saw  it  all !  " 

"  You  did  n't  see  anything  worth  having  white 
cheeks  about." 

"  But  he  struck  you  .  .  .  with  the  knife,  did  he 
not  ?  "  said  Margaret,  clinging  to  his  arm  anxiously. 

"  He  did  n't  have  a  knife,  dear ;  only  a  small 
chisel,  which  could  n't  hurt  any  one.  See  for  your- 
self;  it  is  merely  a  cat-scratch." 

Margaret  satisfied  herself  that  it  was  nothing 
more ;  but  she  nevertheless  insisted  on  leading 
Richard  into  the  workshop,  and  soothing  the  slight 
inflammation  with  her  handkerchief  dipped  in  ar- 
nica and  water.  The  elusive  faint  fragrance  of 
Margaret's  hair  as  she  busied  herself  about  him 
would  of  itself  have  consoled  Richard  for  a  deep 


154  THE   STILLWATER  TRAGEDY. 

wound.  All  this  pretty  solicitude  and  ministration 
was  new  and  sweet  to  him,  and  when  the  arnica 
turned  out  to  be  cologne,  and  scorched  his  cheek, 
Margaret's  remorse  was  so  delicious  that  Richard 
half  wished  the  mixture  had  been  aquafortis. 

"  You  should  n't  have  been  looking  into  the 
yard,"  he  said.  "  If  I  had  known  that  you  were 
watching  us  it  would  have  distracted  me.  When 
I  am  thinking  of  you  I  cannot  think  of  anything 
else,  and  I  had  need  of  my  wits  for  a  moment." 

"  I  happened  to  be  on  the  veranda,  and  was  too 
frightened  to  go  away.  Why  did  you  quarrel  ?  " 

In  giving  Margaret  an  account  of  the  matter, 
Richard  refrained  from  any  mention  of  his  humil- 
iating visit  to  Welch's  Court  that  morning.  He 
could  neither  speak  of  it  nor  reflect  upon  it  with 
composure.  The  cloud  which  shadowed  his  feat- 
ures from  time  to  time  was  attributed  by  Marga- 
ret to  the  affair  in  the  yard. 

"  But  this  is  the  end  of  it,  is  it  not?"  she  asked, 
with  troubled  eyes.  "  You  will  not  have  any  fur- 
ther words  with  him  ?  " 

"  You  need  n't  worry.  If  Torrini  had  not  been 
drinking  he  would  never  have  lifted  his  hand 
against  me.  When  he  comes  out  of  his  present 
state,  he  will  be  heartily  ashamed  of  himself.  His 
tongue  is  the  only  malicious  part  of  him.  If  he 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  155 

had  n't  a  taste  for  drink  and  oratory,  —  if  he  was 
not  '  a  born  horator,'  as  Denyven  calls  him,  —  he 
would  do  well  enough." 

"No,  Richard,  he's  a  dreadful  man.  I  shall 
never  forget  his  face,  —  it  was  some  wild  animal's. 
And  you,  Richard,"  added  Margaret  softly,  "  it 
grieved  me  to  see  you  look  like  that." 

"  I  was  wolfish  for  a  moment,  I  suppose.  Things 
had  gone  wrong  generally.  But  if  you  are  going 
to  scold  me,  Margaret,  I  would  rather  have  some 
more  —  arnica." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  scold  ;  but  while  you  stood 
there,  so  white  and  terrible,  —  so  unlike  yourself, 
—  I  felt  that  I  did  not  know  you,  Richard.  Of 
course  you  had  to  defend  yourself  when  the  man 
attacked  you,  but  I  thought  for  an  instant  you 
would  kill  him." 

"Not  I,"  said  Richard  uneasily,  dreading  any- 
thing like  a  rebuke  from  Margaret.  "  I  am  morti- 
fied that  I  gave  up  to  my  anger.  There  was  no 
occasion." 

"  If  an  intoxicated  person  were  to  wander  into 
the  yard,  papa  would  send  for  a  constable,  and 
have  the  person  removed." 

"  Your  father  is  an  elderly  man,"  returned 
Richard,  not  relishing  this  oblique  criticism  of  his 
own  simpler  method.  "  What  would  be  proper  in 


156  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

his  case  would  be  considered  cowardly  in  mine.  It 
was  my  duty  to  discharge  the  fellow,  and  not  let 
him  dispute  my  authority.  I  ought  to  have  been 
cooler,  of  course.  But  I  should  have  lost  caste  and 
influence  with  the  men  if  I  had  shown  the  least 
personal  fear  of  Torrini,  —  if,  for  example,  I  had 
summoned  somebody  else  to  do  what  I  did  n't  dare 
do  myself.  I  was  brought  up  in  the  yard,  remem- 
ber, and  to  a  certahi  extent  I  have  to  submit  to 
being  weighed  in  the  yard's  own  scales." 

"  But  a  thing  cannot  be  weighed  in  a  scale 
incapable  of  containing  it,"  answered  Margaret. 
"  The  judgment  of  these  rough,  uninstructed  men 
is  too  narrow  for  such  as  you.  They  quarrel  and 
fight  among  themselves,  and  have  their  ideas  of 
daring ;  but  there  is  a  higher  sort  of  bravery,  the 
bravery  of  self-control,  which  I  fancy  they  do  not 
understand  very  well ;  so  their  opinion  of  it  is  not 
worth  considering.  However,  you  know  better 
than  I." 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  said  Richard.  "  Your  instinct 
is  finer  than  my  reason.  But  you  are  scolding  me, 
Margaret." 

'  No,  I  am  loving  you,"  she  said  softly.  "  How 
can  I  do  that  more  faithfully  than  by  being  dis- 
satisfied with  anything  but  the  best  in  you  ?  " 

"  I  was  n't  at  my  best  a  while  ago  ?  " 


THE   STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY.  157 

"No,  Richard." 

*4I  can  never  hope  to  be  worthy  of  you." 

But  Margaret  protested  against  that.  Having 
forced  'him  to  look  at  his  action  through  her  eyes, 
she  outdid  him  in  humility,  and  then  the  conversa- 
tion drifted  off  into  half-breathed  nothings,  which, 
though  they  were  satisfactory  enough  to  these  two, 
would  have  made  a  third  person  yawn. 

The  occurrence  at  Slocum's  Yard  was  hotly  dis- 
cussed that  night  at  the  Stillwater  hotel.  Discus- 
sions in  that  long,  low  bar-room,  where  the  latest 
village  scandal  always  came  to  receive  the  finish- 
ing gloss,  were  apt  to  be  hot.  In  their  criticism 
of  outside  men  and  measures,  as  well  as  in  their 
mutual  vivisections,  there  was  an  unflinching  di- 
rectness among  Mr.  Snelling's  guests  which  is  not 
to  be  found  in  more  artificial  grades  of  society. 
The  popular  verdict  on  young  Shackford's  conduct 
was,  as  might  not  have  been  predicted,  strongly  in 
his  favor.  He  had  displayed  pluck,  and  pluck  of 
the  tougher  fibre  was  a  quality  held  in  so  high  es- 
teem in  Stillwater  that  any  manifestation  of  it 
commanded  respect.  And  young  Shackford  had 
shown  a  great  deal ;  he  had  made  short  work  of 
ihe  most  formidable  man  in  the  yard,  and  given 
the  rest  to  understand  that  he  was  not  to  be  tam- 
pered with.  This  had  taken  many  by  surprise, 


158  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

for  hitherto  an  imperturbable  amiability  had  been 

the  leading  characteristic  of  Slocum's  manager. 

"  I  did  n't  think  he  had  it  in  him,"  declared  Dex- 
ter. 

•'  Well,  ye  might,"  replied  Michael  Hennessey. 
"  Look  at  the  lad's  eye,  and  the  muscles  of  him. 
He  stands  on  his  two  legs  like  a  monumint,  so  he 
does." 

"  Never  saw  a  monument  with  two  legs,  Mike." 

"  Did  n't  ye  ?  Wait  till  ye  're  layin*  at  the  foot 
of  one.  But  ye '11  wait  many  a  day,  me  boy. 
Ye  '11  be  lucky  if  ye  're  supploid  with  a  head-stone 
made  out  of  a  dale-board." 

"  Could  n't  get  a  wooden  head-stone  short  of 
Ireland,  Mike,"  retorted  Dexter,  with  a  laugh. 
"  You  'd  have  to  import  it." 

"  An'  so  I  will ;  but  it  won't  be  got  over  in  time, 
if  ye  go  on  interruptin'  gintlemen  when  they  're 
discoorsin'.  What  was  I  sayin',  any  way,  when 
the  blackguard  chipped  in  ?  "  continued  Mr.  Hen- 
nessey, appealing  to  the  company,  as  he  emptied  the 
ashes  from  his  pipe  by  knocking  the  bowl  on  the 
side  of  his  chair. 

"  You  was  talking  of  Dick  Shackford's  muscle," 
said  Durgin,  "  and  you  never  talked  wider  of  the 
mark.  It  does  n't  take  much  muscle,  or  much 
courage  either,  to  knock  a  man  about  when  he  's 
in  liquor.  The  two  was  n't  fairly  matched." 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  159 

"  You  are  right  there,  Durgin,"  said  Stevens, 
laying  down  his  newspaper.  "  They  were  n't  fairly 
matched.  Both  men  have  the  same  pounds  and 
inches,  but  Torrini  had  a  weapon  and  that  mad 
strength  that  comes  to  some  folks  with  drink.  If 
Shackford  had  n't  taken  a  neat  twist  on  the  neck- 
cloth, he  would  n't  have  got  off  with  a  scratch." 

"  Shackford  had  no  call  to  lay  hands  on  him." 

"  There  you  are  wrong,  Durgin,"  replied  Ste- 
vens. "  Torrini  had  no  call  in  the  yard ;  he  was 
making  a  nuisance  of  himself.  Shackford  spoke  to 
him  fair,  and  told  him  to  go,  and  when  he  did  n't 
go  Shackford  put  him  out;  and  he  put  him  out 
handsomely,  —  '  with  neatness  and  dispatch,'  as 
Slocum's  prospectuses  has  it." 

"  He  was  right  all  the  time,"  said  Piggott.  "  He 
did  n't  strike  Torrini  before  or  after  he  was  down, 
and  stood  at  the  gate  like  a  gentleman,  ready  to 
give  Torrini  his  change  if  he  wanted  it." 

"  Torrini    did   n't   want   it,"    observed   Jemmy  ^ 
Willson.     "  Ther'  is  n't  nothing  mean  about  Tor- 
rini." 

"  But  he  'ad  a  dozen  minds  about  coming  back," 
said  Denyven. 

"  We  ought  to  have  got  him  out  of  the  place 
quietly,"  said  Jeff  Stavers  ;  "  that  was  our  end  of 
the  mistake.  He  is  not  a  bad  fellow,  but  he  should 
n't  drink." 


160  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  He  was  crazy  to  come  to  the  yard." 

"When  a  man  'as  a  day  off,"  observed  Deny- 
ven,  "and  the  beer  is  n't  narsty,  he  'ad  better 
stick  to  the  public  'ouse." 

"  Oh,  you !  "  exclaimed  Durgin.  •*  Your  opin- 
ion don't  weigh.  You  took  a  black  eye  of  him." 

"  Yes,  I  took  a  black  heye,  —  and  I  can  give  one, 
in  a  hemergency.  Yes,  I  gives  and  takes." 

"  That 's  where  we  differ,"  returned  Durgin.  "  I 
do  a  more  genteel  business ;  I  give,  and  don't 
take." 

"  Unless  you  're  uncommon  careful,"  said  Deny- 
veu,  pulling  away  at  his  pipe,  "  you  '11  find  your- 
self some  day  henlarging  your  business." 

Durgin  pushed  back  his  stool. 

"  Gentlemen  !  gentlemen  !  "  interposed  Mr.  Snell- 
ing,  appearing  from  behind  the  bar  with  a  lemon- 
squeezer  in  his  hand,  "  we  '11  have  no  black  eyes 
here  that  was  n't  born  so.  I  am  partial  to  them 
myself  when  nature  gives  them ;  and  I  propose  the 
health  of  Miss  Molly  Hennessey,"  with  a  sly  glance 
at  Durgin,  who  colored,  "  to  be  drank  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  house.  Name  your  taps,  gentlemen." 

"  Snelling,  me  boy,  ye  'd  win  the  bird  from  the 
bush  with  yer  beguilin'  ways.  Ye  've  brought 
proud  tears  to  the  eyes  of  an  aged  parent,  and  I  '11 
take  a  sup  out  of  that  high-showldered  bottle  which 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  161 

you  kape  under  the  counter  for  the  gentle-folks  in 
the  other  room." 

A  general  laugh  greeted  Mr.  Hennessey's  selec- 
tion, and  peace  was  restored  ;  but  the  majority  of 
those  present  were  workmen  from  Slocum's,  and  the 
event  of  the  afternoon  remained  the  uppermost 
theme. 

"  Shackford  is  a  different  build  from  Slocum," 
said  Piggott. 

"  I  guess  the  yard  will  find  that  out  when  he 
gets  to  be  proprietor,"  rejoined  Durgin,  clicking 
his  spoon  against  the  empty  glass  to  attract  Snell- 
ing's  attention. 

"  Going  to  be  proprietor,  is  he  ?  " 

"  Some  day  or  other,"  answered  Dnrgin.  "  First 
he  '11  step  into  the  business,  and  then  into  the  fam- 
ily. He  's  had  his  eye  on  Slocum's  girl  these  four 
or  five  years.  Got  a  cast  of  her  fist  up  in  his 
workshop.  Leave  Dick  Shackford  alone  for  lining 
his  nest  and  making  it  soft  all  round." 

"  Why  should  n't  he  ?  "  asked  Stevens.  "  He 
deserves  a  good  girl,  and  there  's  none  better.  If 
sickness  or  any  sort  of  trouble  conies  to  a  poor 
man's  door,  she  's  never  far  off  with  her  kind  words 
and  them  things  the  rich  have  when  they  are  laid 
up." 

"  Oh,  the  girl  is  well  enough." 
11 


162  THE    STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  You  could  n't  say  less.  Before  your  mother 
died,"  —  Mrs.  Durgin  had  died  the  previous  au- 
tumn, —  "I  see  that  angil  going  to  your  house 
many  a  day  with  a  little  basket  of  comforts  tucked 
under  her  wing.  But  she  's  too  good  to  be  praised 
in  such  a  place  as  this,"  added  Stevens.  After  a 
pause  he  inquired,  "  What  makes  you  down  on 
Shackford  ?  He  has  always  been  a  friend  to  you." 

"  One  of  those  friends  who  walk  over  your  head," 
replied  Durgin.  "  I  was  in  the  yard  two  years 
before  him,  and  see  where  he  is." 

"  Lord  love  you,"  said  Stevens,  leaning  back  in 
his  chair  and  contemplating  Durgin  thoughtfully. 
"  there  is  marble  and  marble  ;  some  is  Carrara  mar- 
ble, and  some  is  n't.  The  fine  grain  takes  a  polish 
you  can't  get  on  to  the  other." 

"  Of  course,  he  is  statuary  marble,  and  I'm  full 
of  seams  and  feldspar." 

"  You  are  like  the  most  of  us,  —  not  the  kind 
that  can  be  worked  up  into  anything  very  orna- 
mental." 

"  Thank  you  for  nothing,"  said  Durgin,  turning 
away.  "  I  came  from  as  good  a  quarry  as  ever 
Dick  Shackford.  Where  's  Torrini  to-night  ?  " 

"  Nobody  has  seen  him  since  the  difficulty,"  said 
Dexter,  "  except  Peters.  Torrini  sent  for  him  after 
supper." 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  163 

As  Dexter  spoke,  the  door  opened  and  Peters 
entered.  He  went  directly  to  the  group  composed 
chiefly  of  Slocum's  men,  and  without  making  any 
remark  began  to  distribute  among  them  certain 
small  blue  tickets,  which  they  pocketed  in  silence. 
Glancing  carelessly  at  his  piece  of  card-board,  Dur- 
gin  said  to  Peters,  — 

"  Then  it 's  decided  ?  " 

Peters  nodded. 

"How's  Torrini?" 

"  He  's  all  right." 

"  What  does  he  say  ?  " 

"Nothing in  perticular,"  responded  Peters,  "and 
nothing  at  all  about  his  little  skylark  with  Shack- 
ford." 

"  He  's  a  cool  one !  "  exclaimed  Durgin. 

Though  the  slips  of  blue  pasteboard  had  been 
delivered  and  accepted  without  comment,  it  was 
known  in  a  second  through  the  bar-room  that  a 
special  meeting  had  been  convened  for  the  next 
night  by  the  officers  of  the  Marble  Workers'  Asso- 
ciation. 


XIV. 

ON  the  third  morning  after  Torrini's  expulsion 
from  the  yard,  Mr.  S locum  walked  into  the  studio 
with  a  printed  slip  in  his  hand.  A  similar  slip  lay 
crumpled  under  a  work-bench,  where  Richard  had 
tossed  it.  Mr.  Slocum's  kindly  visage  was  full  of 
trouble  and  perplexity  as  he  raised  his  eyes  from 
the  paper,  which  he  had  been  re-reading  on  the 
way  up-stairs. 

"  Look  at  that !  " 

"  Yes,"  remarked  Richard,  "  I  have  been  honored 
with  one  of  those  documents." 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means  business." 

The  paper  in  question  contained  a  series  of  re- 
solutions unanimously  adopted  at  a  meeting  of  the 
Marble  Workers'  Association  of  Stillwater,  held 
in  Grimsey's  Hall  the  previous  night.  Dropping 
the  preamble,  these  resolutions,  which  were  neatly 
printed  with  a  type-writing  machine  on  a  half  let- 
ter sheet,  ran  as  follows  :  — 

Resolved,  That  on  and  after  the  First  of  June  proximo, 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  165 

the  pay  of  carvers  in  Slocum's  Marble  Yard  shall  be 
$2.75  per  day,  instead  of  $2.50  as  heretofore. 

Resolved,  That  on  and  after  the  same  date,  the  rubbers 
and  polishers  shall  have  $2.00  per  day,  instead  of  $1.75 
as  heretofore. 

Resolved,  That  on  and  after  the  same  date  the  millinen 
are  to  have  $2.00  per  day,  instead  of  $1.75  as  hereto- 
fore. 

Resolved,  That  during  the  months  of  June,  July,  and 
August  the  shops  shall  knock  off  work  on  Saturdays  at 
five  P.  M.,  instead  of  at  six  p.  M. 

Resolved,  That  a  printed  copy  of  these  Resolutions  be 
laid  before  the  Proprietor  of  Slocum's  Marble  Yard,  and 
that  his  immediate  attention  to  them  be  respectfully  re- 
quested. Per  order  of  Committee  M.  W.  A. 

"  Torrini  is  at  the  bottom  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Slo- 
cum. 

"  I  hardly  think  so.  This  arrangement,  as  I  told 
you  the  other  day  before  I  had  the  trouble  with 
him,  has  been  in  contemplation  several  weeks.  Un- 
doubtedly Torrini  used  his  influence  to  hasten  the 
movement  already  planned.  The  Association  has 
too  much  shrewdness  to  espouse  the  quarrel  of  an 
individual." 

"  What  are  we  to  do  ?  " 

"  If  you  are  in  the  same  mind  you  were  when  we 
talked  over  the  possibility  of  an  unreasonable  de- 
mand like  this,  there  is  only  one  thing  to  do." 


166  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"Fight  it?" 

"  Fight  it." 

"  I  have  been  resolute,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
in  times  past,"  observed  Mr.  Slocum,  glancing  out 
of  the  tail  of  his  eye  at  Richard,  "  and  have  always 
come  off  second  best.  The  Association  has  drawn 
up  most  of  my  rules  for  me,  and  had  its  own  way 
generally." 

"  Since  my  time  you  have  never  been  in  so  strong 
a  position  to  make  a  stand.  We  have  got  all  the 
larger  contracts  out  of  the  way.  Foreseeing  what 
was  likely  to  come,  I  have  lately  fought  shy  of  tak- 
ing new  ones.  Here  are  heavy  orders  from  Rafter 
&  Son,  the  Builders'  Company,  and  others.  We 
must  decline  them  by  to-night's  mail." 

"Is  it  really  necessary?"  asked  Mr.  Slocum, 
knitting  his  forehead  into  what  would  have  been 
a  scowl  if  his  mild  pinkish  eyebrows  had  permit- 
ted it. 

"  I  think  so." 

"  I  hate  to  do  that." 

"  Then  we  are  at  the  mercy  of  the  Association." 

"  If  we  do  not  come  to  their  terms,  you  seriously 
believe  they  will  strike  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  replied  Richard,  "  and  we  should  be  in 
a  pretty  fix." 

"  But  these  demands  are  ridiculous." 


THE   ST1LLWATEB   TRAGEDY.  167 

"  The  men  are  not  aware  of  our  situation ;  they 
imagine  we  have  a  lot  of  important  jobs  on  hand, 
as  usual  at  this  season.  Formerly  the  foreman  of  a 
shop  had  access  to  the  order-book,  but  for  the  last 
year  or  two  I  have  kept  it  in  the  safe  here.  The 
other  day  Dexter  came  to  me  and  wanted  to  see 
what  work  was  set  down  ahead  in  the  blotter ;  but 
I  had  an  inspiration  and  did  n't  let  him  post  him- 
self." 

"Is  not  some  kind  of  compromise  possible?"  sug- 
gested Mr.  Slocum,  looking  over  the  slip  again. 
"  Now  this  fourth  clause,  about  closing  the  yard  an 
hour  early  on  Saturdays,  I  don't  strongly  object  to 
that,  though  with  eighty  hands  it  means,  every 
week,  eighty  hours'  work  which  the  yard  pays  for 
and  does  n't  get." 

"I  should  advise  granting  that  request.  Such 
concessions  are  never  wasted.  But,  Mr.  Slocum, 
this  is  not  going  to  satisfy  them.  They  have 
thrown  in  one  reasonable  demand  merely  to  flavor 
the  rest.  I  happen  to  know  that  they  are  deter- 
mined to  stand  by  their  programme  to  the  last  let- 
ter." 

"  You  know  that  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  friend  at  court.  Of  course  this  is  not 
to  be  breathed,  but  Denyven,  without  being  at  all 
false  to  his  comrades,  talks  freely  with  me.  He 
says  they  are  resolved  not  to  give  in  an  inch." 


168  THE  STILL  WATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  Then  we  will  close  the  works." 

"  That  is  what  I  wanted  you  to  say,  sir ! "  cried 
Richard. 

"With  this  new  scale  of  prices  and  plenty  of 
work,  we  might  probably  come  out  a  little  ahead 
the  next  six  months  ;  but  it  would  n't  pay  for  the 
trouble  and  the  capital  invested.  Then  when  trade 
slackened,  we  should  be  running  at  a  loss,  and 
there 'd  be  another  wrangle  over  a  reduction.  We 
had  better  lie  idle." 

"  Stick  to  that,  sir,  and  may  be  it  will  not  be 
necessary." 

"  But  if  they  strike"  — 

"  They  won't  all  strike.  At  least,"  added  Rich- 
ard, "  I  hope  not.  I  have  indirectly  sounded  sev- 
eral of  the  older  hands,  and  they  have  half  prom- 
ised to  hold  on  ;  only  half  promised,  for  every  man 
of  them  at  heart  fears  the  trades-union  more  than 
No-bread  —  until  No-bread  comes." 

"  Whom  have  you  spoken  with  ?  " 

"  Lumley,  Giles,  Peterson,  and  some  others,  — 
your  pensioners,  I  call  them." 

"Yes,  they  were  in  the  yard  in  my  father's  time  ,• 
they  have  not  been  worth  their  salt  these  ten  years. 
When  the  business  was  turned  over  to  me  I  did  n't 
discharge  any  old  hand  who  had  given  his  best  days 
to  the  yard.  Somehow  I  could  n't  throw  away  the 


THE  STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  169 

squeezed  lemons.  An  employer  owes  a  good  work- 
man something  beyond  the  wages  paid." 

"  And  a  workman  owes  a  good  employer  some- 
thing beyond  the  work  done.  You  stood  by  these 
men  after  they  outlived  their  usefulness,  and  if  they 
do  not  stand  by  you  now,  they  're  a  shabby  set." 

"  I  fancy  they  will,  Richard."   . 

"I  think  they  had  better,  and  I  wish  they  would. 
We  have  enough  odds  and  ends  to  keep  them  busy 
awhile,  and  I  should  n't  like  to  have  the  clinking 
of  chisels  die  out  altogether  under  the  old  sheds." 

"  Nor  I,"  returned  Mr.  Slocum,  with  a  touch  of 
sadness  in  his  intonation.  "  It  has  grown  to  be  a 
kind  of  music  to  me,"  and  he  paused  to  listen  to 
the  sounds  of  ringing  steel  that  floated  up  from  the 
workshops. 

"  Whatever  happens,  that  music  shall  not  cease 
in  the  yard  except  on  Sundays,  if  I  have  to  take 
mallet  and  chisel  and  go  at  a  slab  all  alone." 

"  Slocum's  Yard  with  a  single  workman  in  it 
would  be  a  pleasing  spectacle,"  said  Mr.  Slocum, 
smiling  ruefully. 

"  It  would  n't  be  a  bad  time  for  that  workman  to 
strike,"  returned  Richard  with  a  laugh. 

"  He  could  dictate  his  own  terms,"  returned  Mr. 
Slocum,  soberly.  "  Well,  I  suppose  you  cannot 
help  thinking  about  Margaret ;  but  don't  think  of 


170  THE   STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY. 

her  now.  Tell  me  what  answer  you  propose  to 
give  the  Association,  —  how  you  mean  to  put  it ; 
for  I  leave  the  matter  wholly  to  you.  I  shall  have 
no  hand  in  it,  further  than  to  indorse  your  action." 

"  To-morrow,  then,"  said  Richard,  "  for  it  is  no 
use  to  hurry  up  a  crisis,  I  shall  go  to  the  workshops 
and  inform  them  that  their  request  for  short  hours 
on  Saturdays  is  granted,  but  that  the  other  changes 
they  suggest  are  not  to  be  considered.  There  will 
never  be  a  better  opportunity,  Mr.  Slocum,  to  settle 
another  question  which  has  been  allowed  to  run  too 
long." 

"What's  that?" 

"  The  apprentice  question." 

"  Would  it  be  wise  to  touch  on  that  at  present?  " 

"  While  we  are  straightening  out  matters  and 
putting  things  on  a  solid  basis,  it  seems  to  me  es- 
sential to  settle  that.  There  was  never  a  greater 
imposition,  or  one  moi-e  short-sighted,  than  this  rule 
which  prevents  the  training  of  sufficient  workmen. 
The  trades-union  will  discover  their  error  some  day 
when  they  have  succeeded  in  forcing  manufacturers 
to  import  skilled  labor  by  the  wholesale.  I  would 
like  to  tell  the  Marble  Workers'  Association  that 
Slocum's  Yard  has  resolved  to  employ  as  many  ap- 
prentices each  year  as  there  is  room  for." 

"  I  would  n't  dare  risk  it !  " 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  171 

"  It  will  have  to  be  done,  sooner  or  later.  It 
would  be  a  capital  flank  movement  now.  They 
have  laid  themselves  open  to  an  attack  on  that 
quarter." 

"  I  might  as  well  close  the  gates  for  good  and 
all." 

"  So  you  will,  if  it  comes  to  that.  You  can  af- 
ford to  close  the  gates,  and  they  can't  afford  to  have 
you.  In  a  week  they  'd  be  back,  asking  you  to 
open  them.  Then  you  could  have  your  pick  of  the 
live  hands,  and  drop  the  dead  wood.  If  Giles  or 
Peterson  or  Lumley  or  any  of  those  desert  us,  they 
are  not  to  be  let  on  again.  I  hope  you  will  prom- 
ise me  that,  sir." 

"  If  the  occasion  offers,  you  shall  reorganize  the 
shops  in  your  own  way.  I  have  n't  the  nerve  for 
this  kind  of  business,  though  I  have  seen  a  great 
deal  of  it  in  the  village,  first  and  last.  Strikes  are 
terrible  mistakes.  Even  when  they  succeed,  what 
pays  for  the  lost  time  and  the  money  squandered 
over  the  tavern-bar  ?  What  makes  up  for  the  days 
or  weeks  when  the  fire  was  out  on  the  heaiih  and 
the  children  had  no  bread?  That  is  what  hap- 
pens, you  know." 

"  There  is  no  remedy  for  such  calamities,"  Rich- 
ard answered.  "  Yet  I  can  imagine  occasions  when 
it  would  be  better  to  let  the  fire  go  out  and  the 
children  want  for  bread." 


172  THE  STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  You  are  not  advocating  strikes ! "  exclaimed 
Mr.  Slocum. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  for  fighting  them." 

"  So  I  am,  in  this  instance  ;  but  the  question  has 
two  sides.  Every  man  has  the  right  to  set  a  price 
on  his  own  labor,  and  to  refuse  to  work  for  less  ; 
the  wisdom  of  it  is  another  matter.  He  puts  him- 
self in  the  wrong  only  when  he  menaces  the  per- 
son or  the  property  of  the  man  who  has  an  equal 
right  not  to  employ  him.  That  is  the  blunder 
strikers  usually  make  in  the  end,  and  one  by  which 
,  they  lose  public  sympathy  even  when  they  are 
fighting  an  injustice.  Now,  sometimes  it  is  an  in- 
justice that  is  being  fought,  and  then  it  is  right  to 
fight  it  with  the  only  weapon  a  poor  man  has  to 
wield  against  a  power  which  possesses  a  hundred 
weapons,  —  and  that 's  a  strike.  For  example,  the 
smelters  and  casters  in  the  Miantowona  Iron  Works 
are  meanly  underpaid." 

"  What,  have  they  struck  ?  " 

"  There  's  a  general  strike  threatened  in  the  vil- 
lage ;  foundry-men,  spinners,  and  all." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  everybody  !  I  did  not 
suppose  it  was  as  bad  as  that.  What  has  become 
of  Torrini?" 

"  The  day  after  he  left  us  he  was  taken  on  as 
forgeman  at  Dana's." 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  173 

"  I  am  glad  Dana  has  got  him  !  " 

"  At  the  meeting,  last  night,  Torrini  gave  in  his 
resignation  as  secretary  of  the  Association  ;  being 
no  longer  a  marble  worker,  he  was  not  qualified  to 
serve." 

"  We  unhorsed  him,  then  ?  " 

"  Rather.     I  am  half  sorry,  too." 

"  Richard,"  said  Mr.  Slocum,  halting  in  one  of 
his  nervous  walks  up  and  down  the  room,  "  you  are 
the  oddest  composition  of  hardness  and  softness  I 
ever  saw." 

" Am  I  ? " 

"  One  moment  you  stand  braced  like  a  lion  to 
fight  the  whole  yard,  and  the  next  moment  you  are 
pitying  a  miscreant  who  would  have  laid  your  head 
open  without  the  slightest  compunction." 

"  Oh,  I  forgive  him,"  said  Richard.  "  I  was  a 
trifle  hasty  myself.  Margaret  thinks  so  too." 

"  Much  Margaret  knows  about  it !  " 

"  I  was  inconsiderate,  to  say  the  least.  When  a 
man  picks  up  a  tool  by  the  wrong  end  he  must  ex- 
pect to  get  cut." 

"  You  did  n't  have  a  choice." 

"  I  should  n't  have  touched  Torrini.  After  dis- 
charging him  and  finding  him  disposed  to  resist  my 
order  to  leave  the  yard,  I  ought  to  have  called  in 
a  constable.  Usually  it  is  very  hard  to  anger  me  ; 


174  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

but  three  or  four  times  in  my  life  I  have  been  car- 
ried away  by  a  devil  of  a  temper  which  I  could  n't 
control,  it  seized  me  so  unawares.  That  was  one 
of  the  times." 

The  mallets  and  chisels  were  executing  a  blithe 
staccato  movement  in  the  yard  below,  and  making 
the  sparks  dance.  No  one  walking  among  the  dil- 
igent gangs,  and  observing  the  placid  faces  of  the 
men  as  they  bent  over  their  tasks,  would  have  sus- 
pected that  they  were  awaiting  the  word  that 
meant  bread  and  meat  and  home  to  them. 

As  Richard  passed  through  the  shops,  dropping 
a  word  to  a  workman  here  and  there,  the  man 
addressed  looked  up  cheerfully  and  made  a  fur- 
tive dab  at  the  brown  paper  cap,  and  Richard  re- 
turned the  salute  smilingly ;  but  he  was  sad  within. 
"The  foolish  fellows,"  he  said  to  himself,  "they 
are  throwing  away  a  full  loaf  and  are  likely  to 
get  none  at  all."  Giles  and  two  or  three  of  the 
ancients  were  squaring  a  block  of  marble  under  a 
shelter  by  themselves.  Richard  made  it  a  point 
to  cross  over  and  speak  to  them.  In  past  days 
he  had  not  been  exacting  with  these  old  boys,  and 
they  always  had  a  welcome  for  him. 

Slocum's  Yard  seldom  presented  a  serener  air  of 
contented  industry  than  it  wore  that  morning  ;  but 
in  spite  of  all  this  smooth  outside  ifc  was  a  foregone 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  175 

conclusion  with  most  of  the  men  that  Slocum,  with 
Shackford  behind  him,  would  never  submit  to  the 
new  scale  of  wages.  There  were  a  few  who  had 
protested  against  those  resolutions  and  still  disap- 
proved of  them,  but  were  forced  to  go  with  the  As- 
'sociation,  which  had  really  been  dragged  into  the 
current  by  the  other  trades. 

The  Dana  Mills  and  the  Miantowona  Iron  Works 
were  paying  lighter  wages  than  similar  establish- 
ments nearer  the  great  city.  The  managers  con- 
tended that  they  were  paying  as  high  if  not  higher 
rates,  taking  into  consideration  the  cheaper  cost 
of  living  in  Stilhvater.  "  But  you  get  city  prices 
for  your  wares,"  retorted  the  union  ;  "  you  don't 
pay  city  rents,  and  you  shall  pay  city  wages." 
Meetings  were  held  at  Grimsey's  Hall  and  the  sub- 
ject was  canvassed,  at  first  calmly  and  then  storm- 
ily.  Among  the  molders,  and  possibly  the  sheet- 
iron  workers,  there  was  cause  for  dissatisfaction ; 
but  the  dissatisfaction  spread  to  where  no  grievance 
existed  ;  it  seized  upon  the  spinners,  and  finally 
tpon  the  marble  workers.  Torrini  fanned  the 
flame  there.  Taking  for  his  text  the  rentage  ques- 
tion, he  argued  that  Slocum  was  well  able  to  give 
a  trifle  more  for  labor  than  his  city  competitors. 
"  The  annual  rent  of  a  yard  like  Slocum's  would  be 
four  thousand  or  five  thousand  dollars  in  the  city. 


176  THE   STILL  WATER   TRAGEDY. 

It  does  n't  cost  Slocum  two  hundred  dollars.  It  is 
no  more  than  just  that  the  laborer  should  have  a 
share  —  he  only  asks  a  beggarly  share  —  of  the 
prosperity  which  he  has  helped  to  build  up."  This 
was  specious  and  taking.  Then  there  came  down 
from  the  great  city  a  glib  person  disguised  as  The 
Workingman's  Friend,  —  no  workingman  himself, 
mind  you,  but  a  ghoul  that  lives  upon  subscriptions 
and  sucks  the  senses  out  of  innocent  human  beings, 
—  who  managed  to  set  the  place  by  the  ears.  The 
result  of  all  which  was  that  one  May  morning  every 
shop,  mill,  and  factory  in  Still  water  was  served 
with  a  notice  from  the  trades-union,  and  a  general 
strike  threatened. 

But  our  business  at  present  is  exclusively  with 
Slocum's  Yard. 


XV. 

"  SINCE  we  are  in  for  it,"  said  Mr.  Slocum  the 
next  morning,  "  put  the  case  to  them  squarely." 

Mr.  Slocum's  vertebrae  had  stiffened  over  night. 

"  Leave  that  to  me,  sir,"  Richard  replied.  "  I 
have  been  shaping  out  in  my  mind  a  little  speech 
which  I  flatter  myself  will  cover  the  points.  They 
have  brought  this  thing  upon  themselves,  and  we 
are  about  to  have  the  clearest  of  understandings.  I 
never  saw  the  men  quieter." 

"  I  don't  altogether  admire  that.  It  looks  as  if 
they  had  n't  any  doubt  as  to  the  issue." 

"  The  clearest-headed  have  no  doubt ;  they  know 
as  well  as  you  and  I  do  the  flimsiness  of  those  reso- 
lutions. But  the  thick  heads  are  in  a  fog.  Every 
man  naturally  likes  his  pay  increased ;  if  a  simple 
fellow  is  told  five  or  six  hundred  times  that  his 
wages  ought  to  be  raised,  the  idea  is  so  agreeable 
and  insidious  that  by  and  by  he  begins  to  believe 
himself  grossly  underpaid,  though  he  may  be  get- 
ting twice  what  he  is  worth.  He  doesn't  reason 
about  it;  that 's  the  last  thing  he  '11  do  for  you.  In 
this  mood  he  lets  himself  be  blown  away  by  the 

12 


178  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

breath  of  some  loud-mouthed  demagogue,  who  has 
no  interest  in  the  matter  beyond  hearing  his  own 
talk  and  passing  round  the  hat  after  the  meeting 
is  over.  That  is  what  has  happened  to  our  folks 
below.  But  they  are  behaving  handsomely." 

"  Yes,  and  I  don't  like  it." 

Since  seven  o'clock  the  most  unimpeachable  de- 
corum had  reigned  in  the  workshops.  It  was  now 
nine,  and  this  brief  dialogue  had  occurred  between 
Mr.  Slocum  and  Richard  on  the  veranda,  just  as 
the  latter  was  on  the  point  of  descending  into  the 
yard  to  have  his  talk  with  the  men. 

The  workshops  —  or  rather  the  shed  in  which 
the  workshops  were,  for  it  was  one  low  structure 
eighteen  or  twenty  feet  wide  and  open  on  the  west 
side  —  ran  the  length  of  the  yard,  and  with  the 
short  extension  at  the  southerly  end  formed  the 
letter  L.  There  were  no  partitions,  an  imaginary 
line  separating  the  different  gangs  of  workers.  A 
person  standing  at  the  head  of  the  building  could 
make  himself  heard  more  or  less  distinctly  in  the 
remotest  part. 

The  grating  lisp  of  the  wet  saws  eating  their  way 
into  the  marble  bowlder,  and  the  irregular  quick 
taps  of  the  seventy  or  eighty  mallets  were  not  sus- 
pended as  Richard  took  his  stand  beside  a  tall  fu- 
nereal urn  at  the  head  of  the  principal  workshop 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  179 

After  a  second's  faltering  he  rapped  smartly  on  the 
lip  of  the  urn  with  the  key  of  his  studio-door. 

Instantly  every  arm  appeared  paralyzed,  and  the 
men  stood  motionless,  with  the  tools  in  their  hands. 

Richard  began  in  a  clear  but  not  loud  voice, 
though  it  seemed  to  ring  on  the  sudden  silence  :  — 

"  Mr.  Slocum  has  asked  me  to  say  a  few  words  to 
you,  this  morning,  about  those  resolutions,  and  one 
or  two  other  matters  that  have  occurred  to  him  in 
this  connection.  I  am  no  speech-maker  ;  I  never 
learned  that  trade  "  — 

"  Never  learned  any  trade,"  muttered  Durgin,  in- 
audibly. 

—  "  but  I  think  I  can  manage  some  plain,  honest 
talk,  for  straight-forward  men." 

Richard's  exordium  was  listened  to  with  painful 
attention. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  he  continued,  "  I  want  to 
remind  you,  especially  the  newer  men,  that  Slo- 
cum's  Yard  has  always  given  steady  work  and 
prompt  pay  to  Stillwater  hands.  No  hand  has  ever 
been  turned  off  without  sufficient  cause,  or  kept  on 
through  mere  favoritism.  Favors  have  been  shown, 
but  they  have  been  shown  to  all  alike.  If  anything 
has  gone  crooked,  it  has  been  straightened  out  as 
soon  as  Mr.  Slocum  knew  of  it.  That  has  been  the 
course  of  the  yard  in  the  past,  and  the  Proprietor 


180  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

does  n't  want  you  to  run  away  with  the  idea  that 
that  course  is  going  to  be  changed.  One  change, 
for  the  time  being,  is  going  to  be  made  at  your  own 
suggestion.  From  now,  until  the  1st  of  September, 
this  yard  will  close  gates  on  Saturdays  at  five  P.  M. 
instead  of  at  six  P.  M." 

Several  voices  cried,  "  Good  for  Slocum  I  " 
"  Where  's  Slocum  ?  "  "  Why  don't  Slocum  speak 
for  himself  ?  "  cried  one  voice. 

"  It  is  Mr.  Slocum's  habit,"  answered  Richard, 
"  to  give  his  directions  to  me,  I  give  them  to  the 
foremen,  and  the  foremen  to  the  shops.  Mr.  Slo- 
cum follows  that  custom  on  this  occasion.  With 
regard  to  the  new  scale  of  wages  which  the  Associ- 
ation has  submitted  to  him,  the  Proprietor  refuses 
to  accept  it,  or  any  modification  of  it." 

A  low  murmur  ran  through  the  workshops. 

"  What  's  a  modificashun,  sir  ?  "  asked  Jemmy 
Willson,  stepping  forward,  and  scratching  his  left 
ear  diffidently. 

"  A  modification,"  replied  Richard,  considerably 
embarrassed  to  give  an  instant  definition,  "  is  a  — 
a"  — 

"  A  splitting  of  the  difference,  by !  "  shouted 

somebody  in  the  third  shop. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Richard,  glancing  in  the  di- 
rection of  his  impromptu  Webster  Unabridged. 


THE   STILL  WATER   TRAGEDY.  181 

"  Mr.  Slocura  does  not  propose  to  split  the  differ- 
ence. The  wages  in  every  department  are  to  be 
just  what  they  are,  —  neither  more  nor  less.  If 
anybody  wishes  to  make  a  remark,"  he  added,  ob- 
serving a  restlessness  in  several  of  the  men,  "  I 
beg  he  will  hold  on  until  I  get  through.  I  shall 
not  detain  you  much  longer,  as  the  parson  says 
before  he  has  reached  the  middle  of  his  sermon. 

"  What  I  say  now,  I  was  charged  to  make  par- 
ticularly clear  to  you.  It  is  this :  In  future  Mr. 
Slocum  intends  to  run  Slocum's  Yard  himself. 
Neither  you,  nor  I,  nor  the  Association  will  be  al- 
lowed to  run  it  for  him.  [Sensation.]  Until  now 
the  Association  has  tied  him  down  to  two  ap- 
prentices a  year.  From  this  hour,  out,  Mr.  Slocum 
will  take  on,  not  two,  or  twenty,  but  two  hundred 
apprentices  if  the  business  warrants  it." 

The  words  were  not  clearly  off  Richard's  lips 
when  the  foreman  of  the  shop  in  which  he  was 
speaking  picked  up  a  couple  of  small  drills,  and 
knocked  them  together  with  a  sharp  click.  In  an 
instant  the  men  laid  aside  their  aprons,  bundled 
up  their  tools,  and  marched  out  of  the  shed  two 
by  two,  in  dead  silence.  That  same  click  was  re- 
peated almost  simultaneously  in  the  second  shop, 
and  the  same  evolution  took  place.  Then  click, 
click,  click  !  went  the  drills,  sounding  fainter  and 


182  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

fainter  in  the  more  distant  departments  ;  and  in 
less  than  three  minutes  there  was  not  a  soul  left  in 
Slocum's  Yard  except  the  Orator  of  the  Day. 

Richard  had  anticipated  some  demonstration, 
either  noisy  or  violent,  perhaps  both  ;  but  this  sol- 
emn, orderly  desertion  dashed  him. 

He  stepped  into  the  middle  of  the  yard,  and 
glancing  up  beheld  Margaret  and  Mr.  Slocum 
standing  on  the  veranda.  Even  at  that  distance 
he  could  perceive  the  pallor  on  one  face,  and  the 
consternation  -written  all  over  the  other. 

Hanging  his  head  with  sadness,  Richard  crossed 
the  yard,  which  gave  out  mournful  echoes  to  his 
footfalls,  and  swung  to  the  large  gate,  nearly  catch- 
ing old  Giles  by  the  heel  as  he  did  so.  Looking 
through  the  slats,  he  saw  Lumley  and  Peterson 
hobbling  arm  in  arm  down  the  street,  —  after  more 
than  twenty-five  years  of  kindly  treatment. 

"Move  number  one,"  said  Richard,  lifting  the 
heavy  cross-piece  into  its  place  and  fastening  it 
with  a  wooden  pin.  "  Now  I  must  go  and  prop  up 
Mr.  Slocum." 


XVI. 

THERE  is  no  solitude  or  silence  which  comes  so 
near  being  tangible  as  that  of  a  vast  empty  work- 
shop, crowded  a  moment  since.  The  busy,  intense 
life  that  has  gone  from  it  mysteriously  leaves  be- 
hind enough  of  itself  to  make  the  stillness  poignant. 
One  might  imagine  the  invisible  ghost  of  doomed 
Toil  wandering  from  bench  to  bench,  and  noise- 
lessly fingering  the  dropped  tools,  still  warm  from 
the  workman's  palm.  Perhaps  this  impalpable 
presence  is  the  artisan's  anxious  thought,  stolen 
back  to  brood  over  the  uncompleted  task. 

Though  Mr.  Slocum  had  spoken  lightly  of  Slo- 
cum's  Yard  with  only  one  workman  in  it,  when  he 
came  to  contemplate  the  actual  fact  he  was  struck 
by  the  pathos  of  it,  and  the  resolution  with  which 
he  awoke  that  morning  began  to  desert  him. 

"  The  worst  is  over,"  exclaimed  Richard,  join- 
ing his  two  friends  on  the  veranda,  "and  every- 
thing went  smoother  than  I  expected." 

"Everything  went,  sure  enough,"  said  Mr.  Slo- 
cum, gloomily  ;  "  they  all  went,  —  old  Giles,  and 
Lumley,  and  everybody." 


184  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  W<j  somewhat  expected  that,  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  expected  it,  and  was  n't  prepared  for  it." 

"  It  was  very  bad,"  said  Richard,  shaking  his 
head. 

The  desertion  of  Giles  and  his  superannuated 
mates  especially  touched  Mr.  Slocum. 

"  Bad  is  no  word  ;  it  was  damnable." 

"  Oh,  papa  !  " 

"  Pardon  me,  dear ;  I  could  n't  help  it.  When 
a  man's  pensioners  throw  him  over,  he  must  be 
pretty  far  gone  !  " 

"The  undertow  was  too  strong  for  them,  sir,  and 
they  were  swept  away  with  the  rest.  And  they 
all  but  promised  to  stay.  They  will  be  the  very 
first  to  come  back." 

"  Of  course  we  shall  have  to  take  the  old  fel- 
lows on  again,"  said  Mr.  Slocum,  relenting  charac- 
teristically. 

"  Never !  "  cried  Richard. 

"  I  wish  I  had  some  of  your  grit." 

"  I  have  none  to  spare.  To  tell  the  truth,  when 
I  stood  up  there  to  speak,  with  every  eye  working 
on  me,  like  a  half-inch  drill,  I  would  have  sold 
myself  at  a  low  figure." 

"  But  you  were  a  perfect  what  's-his-name,  — 
Demosthenes,"  said  Mr.  Slocum,  with  a  faint  smile. 
"  We  could  hear  you." 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  185 

"  I  don't  believe  Demosthenes  ever  moved  an 
audience  as  I  did  mine !  "  cried  Richard  gayly.  "  If 
his  orations  produced  a  like  effect,  I  am  certain 
that  the  Grecian  lecture-bureau  never  sent  him 
twice  to  the  same  place." 

"  I  don't  think,  Ricliard,  I  would  engage  you  over 
again." 

"I  am  sure  Richard  spoke  very  well,"  inter- 
rupted Margaret.  "  His  speech  was  short  " — 

"  Say  shortened,  Margaret,  for  I  had  n't  got 
through  when  they  left." 

"  No,  I  will  not  jest  about  it.  It  is  too  serious 
for  jesting.  What  is  to  become  of  the  families 
of  all  these  men  suddenly  thrown  out  of  employ- 
ment ?  " 

"  They  threw  themselves  out,  Mag,"  said  her 
father. 

"  That  does  not  mend  the  matter,  papa.  There 
will  be  great  destitution  and  suffering  in  the  vil- 
lage with  every  mill  closed  ;  and  they  are  all  going 
to  close,  Bridget  says.  Thank  Heaven  that  this 
did  not  happen  in  the  winter  !  " 

"  They  always  pick  their  weather,"  observed  Mr. 
Slocum. 

"  It  will  not  be  for  long,"  said  Richard  encour- 
agingly. "  Our  own  hands  and  the  spinners,  who 
had  no  ground  for  complaint,  will  return  to  work 


186  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

shortly,  and  the  managers  of  the  iron  mills  will 
have  to  yield  a  point  or  two.  In  a  week  at  the 
outside  everything  will  be  running  smoothly,  and 
on  a  sounder  foundation  than  before.  I  believe 
the  strike  will  be  an  actual  benefit  to  everybody  in 
the  end." 

By  dint  of  such  arguments  and  his  own  sanguine 
temperament,  Richard  succeeded  in  reassuring  Mr. 
Slocum  for  the  time  being,  though  Richard  did 
not  hide  from  himself  the  gravity  of  the  situation. 
There  was  a  general  strike  in  the  village.  Eight 
hundred  men  were  without  work.  That  meant,  or 
would  mean  in  a  few  days,  two  or  three  thousand 
women  and  children  without  bread.  It  does  not 
take  the  wolf  long  to  reach  a  poor  man's  door  when 
it  is  left  ajar. 

The  trades-union  had  a  fund  for  emergencies  of 
this  sort,  and  some  outside  aid  might  be  looked  for; 
but  such  supplies  are  in  their  nature  precarious  and 
soon  exhausted.  It  is  a  noticeable  feature  of  strikes 
that  the  moment  the  workman's  pay  stops  his  liv- 
ing expenses  increase.  Even  the  more  economical 
becomes  improvident.  If  he  has  money,  the  to- 
bacco shop  and  the  tavern  are  likely  to  get  more  of 
it  than  the  butcher's  cart.  The  prolonged  strain 
is  too  great  to  be  endured  without  stimulant. 


XVII. 

DURING  the  first  and  second  days  of  the  strike, 
Stillwater  presented  an  animated  and  even  a  festive 
appearance.  Throngs  of  operatives  in  their  Sunday 
clothes  strolled  through  the  streets,  or  lounged  at 
the  corners  chatting  with  other  groups ;  some  wan- 
dered into  the  suburbs,  and  lay  in  the  long  grass 
under  the  elms.  Others  again,  though  these  were 
few,  took  to  the  turnpike  or  the  railroad  track,  and 
tramped  across  country. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  bar-room  of  the  tav- 
ern was  crowded  from  early  morning  down  to  the 
hour  when  the  law  compelled  Mr.  Snelling  to  shut 
off  his  gas.  After  which,  John  Brown's  "soul" 
could  be  heard  "  marching  on  "  in  the  darkness, 
through  various  crooked  lanes  and  alleys,  until 
nearly  daybreak. 

Among  the  earliest  to  scent  trouble  in  the  air 
•was  Han-Lin,  the  Chinaman  before  mentioned.  He 
kept  a  small  laundry  in  Mini  Lane,  where  his  name 
was  painted  perpendicularly  on  a  light  of  glass  in  the 
basement  window  of  a  tenement  house.  Han-Lin 
intended  to  be  buried  some  day  in  a  sky-blue  coffin 


188  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

in  his  own  land,  and  have  a  dozen  packs  of  fire- 
crackers decorously  exploded  over  his  remains.  In 
order  to  reserve  himself  for  this  and  other  ceremo- 
nies involving  the  burning  of  a  great  quantity  of 
gilt  paper,  he  quietly  departed  for  Boston  at  the 
first  sign  of  popular  discontent.  As  Dexter  de- 
scribed it,  "Han-Lin  coiled  up  his  pig-tail,  put 
forty  grains  of  rice  in  a  yallar  bag,  —  enough  to 
last  him  a  month  !  —  and  toddled  off  in  his  two- 
story  wooden  shoes."  He  could  scarcely  have  done 
a  wiser  thing,  for  poor  Han-Lin's  laundry  was 
turned  wrong  side  out  within  thirty-six  hours  aft- 
erwards. 

The  strike  was  popular.  The  spirit  of  it  spread, 
as  fire  and  fever  and  all  elemental  forces  spread. 
The  two  apprentices  in  Brackett's  bakery  had  a 
dozen  minds  about  striking  that  first  morning. 
The  younger  lad,  Joe  Wiggin,  plucked  up  courage 
to  ask  Brackett  for  a  day  off,  and  was  lucky  enough 
to  dodge  a  piece  of  dough  weighing  nearly  four 
pounds. 

Brackett  was  making  bread  while  the  sun  shone. 
He  knew  that  before  the  week  was  over  there 
would  be  no  cash  customers,  and  he  purposed  then 
to  shut  up  shop. 

On  the  third  and  fourth  days  there  was  no  per- 
ceptible fall  in  the  barometer.  Trade  was  brisk 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  189 

with  Snelling,  and  a  brass  band  was  playing  na- 
tional airs  on  a  staging  erected  on  the  green  in 
front  of  the  post-office.  Nightly  meetings  took 
place  at  Grimsey's  Hall,  and  the  audiences  were 
good-humored  and  orderly.  Torrini  advanced  some 
Utopian  theories  touching  a  universal  distribution 
of  wealth,  which  were  listened  to  attentively,  but 
failed  to  produce  deep  impression. 

"  That 's  a  healthy  idea  of  Torrini's  about  der- 
vidin'  up  property,"  said  Jemmy  Willson.  "  I  've 
heerd  it  afore ;  but  it 's  sing'ler  I  never  knowd  a 
feller  with  any  property  to  have  that  idea." 

"  Ther'  's  a  great  dale  in  it,  I  can  tell  ye,"  re- 
plied Michael  Hennessey,  with  a  well-blackened 
Woodstock  pipe  between  his  teeth  and  his  hands 
tucked  under  his  coat-tails.  "  Is  n't  ther',  Misther 
Stavens  ?  " 

When  Michael  had  on  his  bottle-green  swallow- 
tailed  coat  with  the  brass  buttons,  he  invariably  as- 
sumed a  certain  lofty  air  of  ceremony  in  addressing 
his  companions. 

"  It  is  sorter  pleasant  to  look  at,"  returned  Ste- 
vens, "  but  it  don't  seem  to  me  an  idea  that  would 
work.  Suppose  that,  after  all  the  property  was 
divided,  a  fresh  ship-load  of  your  friends  was  to 
land  at  New  York  or  Boston ;  would  there  be  a 
new  deal  ?  " 


190  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  No,  sur !  by  no  inanes  !  "  exclaimed  Michael 
excitedly.  "  The  furreners  is  counted  out !  " 

"  But  you  're  a  foreigner  yourself,  Mike." 

"  Am  I,  then  ?  Bedad,  I  'm  not !  I  'm  a  rale 
American  Know  Nothing." 

"  Well,  Mike,"  said  Stevens  maliciously,  "  when 
it  comes  to  a  reg'lar  division  of  lands  and  green- 
backs in  the  United  States,  I  go  in  for  the  Chinese 
having  their  share." 

"The  Chinase  !  "  shouted  Michael.  "  Oh,  mur- 
ther,  Misther  Stavens  !  Ye  would  n't  be  fur  divid- 
in'  with  thim  blatherskites  !  " 

"  Yes,  with  them,  —  as  well  as  the  rest,"  re- 
turned Stevens  dryly. 

Meanwhile  the  directors  and  stockholders  of  the 
various  mills  took  counsel  in  a  room  at  the  rear  of 
the  National  Bank.  Mr.  Slocum,  following  Rich- 
ard's advice,  declined  to  attend  the  meeting  in  per- 
son, or  to  allow  his  name  to  figure  on  the  list  of 
vice-presidents. 

"  Why  should  we  hitch  our  good  cause  to  their 
doubtful  one  ?  "  reflected  Richard.  "  We  have  no 
concessions  or  proposals  to  make.  When  our  men 
are  ready  to  come  back  to  us,  they  will  receive  just 
wages  and  fair  treatment.  They  know  that.  We 
do  not  want  to  fight  the  molders.  Let  the  iron- 
mills  do  their  own  fighting  ;  "  and  Richard  stolidly 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  191 

employed  himself  in  taking  an  account  of  stock, 
and  forwarding  by  express  to  their  destination  the 
ten  or  twelve  carved  mantel-pieces  that  happily 
completed  the  last  contract. 

Then  his  responsibilities  shrunk  to  winding  up 
the  office  clock  and  keeping  Mr.  Slocum  firmly  on 
his  legs.  The  latter  was  by  far  the  more  onerous 
duty,  for  Mr.  Slocum  ran  down  two  or  three  times 
in  the  course  of  every  twenty-four  hours,  while  the 
clock  once  wound  was  fixed  for  the  day. 

"  If  I  could  only  have  a  good  set  of  Waltham 
works  put  into  your  father,"  said  Richard  to  Mar- 
garet, after  one  of  Mr.  Slocum's  relapses,  "  he 
would  go  better." 

"  Poor  papa  !  he  is  not  a  fighter,  like  you." 

"  Your  father  is  what  I  call  a  belligerent  non- 
combatant." 

Richard  was  seeing  a  great  deal  of  Margaret 
these  days.  Mr.  Slocum  had  invited  him  to  sleep 
in  the  studio  until  the  excitement  was  past.  Mar- 
garet was  afraid  to  have  him  take  that  long  walk 
between  the  yard  and  his  lodgings  in  Lime  Street, 
and  then  her  father  was  an  old  man  to  be  with- 
out any  protection  in  the  house  in  such  untoward 
times. 

So  Richard  slept  in  tl/e  studio,  and  had  his  plate 
at  table,  like  one  of  the  family.  This  arrangement 


192  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

was  favorable  to  many  a  stolen  five  minutes  with 
Margaret,  in  the  hall  or  on  the  staircase.  In  these 
fortuitous  moments  he  breathed  an  atmosphere  that 
sustained  him  in  his  task  of  dispelling  Mr.  Slocum's 
recurrent  fits  of  despondency.  Margaret  had  her 
duties,  too,  at  this  period,  and  the  forenoons  were 
sacred  to  them. 

One  morning  as  she  passed  down  the  street  with 
a  small  wicker  basket  on  her  arm,  Richard  said  to 
Mr.  Slocuin,  — 

"  Margaret  has  joined  the  strikers." 

The  time  had  already  come  to  Stillwater  when 
many  a  sharp-faced  little  urchin  —  as  dear  to  the 
warm,  deep  bosom  that  had  nursed  it  as  though  it 
were  a  crown  prince  —  would  not  have  had  a  crust 
to  gnaw  if  Margaret  Slocum  had  not  joined  the 
strikers.  Sometimes  her  heart  drooped  on  the  way 
home  from  these  errands,  upon  seeing  how  little  of 
the  misery  she  could  ward  off.  On  her  rounds  there 
was  one  cottage  in  a  squalid  lane  where  the  chil- 
dren asked  for  bread  in  Italian.  She  never  omit- 
ted to  halt  at  that  door. 

"  Is  it  quite  prudent  for  Margaret  to  be  going 
about  so  ?  "  queried  Mr.  Slocum. 

"  She  is  perfectly  safe,"  said  Richard, —  u  as  safe 
as  a  Sister  of  Charity,  which  she  is." 

Indeed,  Margaret  might  then  have  gone  loaded 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  193 

with  diamonds  through  the  streets  at  midnight. 
There  was  not  a  rough  man  in  Stillwater  who  would 
not  have  reached  forth  an  arm  to  shield  her. 

"  It  is  costing  me  nearly  as  much  as  it  would  to 
carry  on  the  yard,"  said  Mr.  Slocum,  "  but  I  never 
put  out  any  stamps  more  willingly." 

"  You  never  took  a  better  contract,  sir,  than  when 
you  agreed  to  keep  Margaret's  basket  filled.  It  is 
an  investment  in  real  estate — hereafter." 

"  I  hope  so,"  answered  Mr.  Slocum,  "and  I  know 
it 's  a  good  thing  now." 

Of  the  morals  of  Stillwater  at  this  time,  or  at 
any  time,  the  less  said-  the  better.  But  out  of  the 
slime  and  ooze  below  sprang  the  white  flower  of 
charity. 

The  fifth  day  fell  on  a  Sabbath,  and  the  churches 
were  crowded.  The  Rev.  Arthur  Langly  selected 
his  text  from  S.  Matthew,  chap.  xxii.  v.  21 :  "Ren- 
der therefore  unto  Caesar  the  things  which  are 
Csesar's."  But  as  he  did  not  make  it  quite  plain 
which  was  Caesar,  —  the  trades-union  or  the  Mian- 
towona  Iron  Works,  —  the  sermon  went  for  noth- 
ing, unless  it  could  be  regarded  as  a  hint  to  those 
persons  who  had  stolen  a  large  piece  of  belting 
from  the  Dana  Mills.  On  the  other  hand,  Father 
O'Meara  that  morning  bravely  told  his  children  to 
conduct  themselves  in  an  orderly  manner  while  they 

13 


194  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

were  out  of  work,  or  they  would  catch  it  in  this 

world  and  in  the  next. 

On  the  sixth  day  a  keen  observer  might  have  de- 
tected a  change  in  the  atmosphere.  The  streets 
were  thronged  as  usual,  and  the  idlers  still  wore 
their  Sunday  clothes,  but  the  holiday  buoyancy  of 
the  earlier  part  of  the  week  had  evaporated.  A 
turn-out  on  the  part  of  one  of  the  trades,  though 
it  was  accompanied  by  music  and  a  banner  with  a 
lively  inscription,  failed  to  arouse  general  enthusi- 
asm. A  serious  and  even  a  sullen  face  was  not  rare 
among  the  crowds  that  wandered  aimlessly  up  and 
down  the  village. 

On  the  seventh  day  it  required  no  penetration  to 
see  the  change.  There  was  decidedly  less  good- 
natured  chaffing  and  more  drunkenness,  though 
Snelling  had  invoked  popular  contumely  and  deci- 
mated his  bar-room  by  refusing  to  trust  for  drinks. 
Brackett  had  let  his  ovens  cool,  and  his  shutters 
were  up.  The  treasury  of  the  trades-union  was 
nearly  drained,  and  there  were  growlings  that  too 
much  had  been  fooled  away  on  banners  and  a  brass 
band  for  the  iron  men's  parade  the  previous  fore- 
noon. It  was  when  Brackett's  eye  sighted  the 
banner  with  "Bread  or  Blood"  on  it,  that  he  had 
put  up  his  shutters. 

Torrini  was  now  making  violent   Harangues   at 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  195 

Grimsey's  Hall  to  largely  augmented  listeners, 
whom  bis  words  irritated  without  convincing.  Shut 
off  from  the  tavern,  the  men  flocked  to  hear  him 
and  the  other  speakers,  for  born  orators  were  just 
then  as  thick  as  unripe  whortleberries.  There  was 
nowhere  else  to  go.  At  home  were  reproaches  that 
maddened,  and  darkness,  for  the  kerosene  had  given 
out. 

Though  all  the  trades  had  been  swept  into  the 
movement,  it  is  not  to  be  understood  that  every 
workman  was  losing  his  head.  There  were  men 
who  owned  their  cottages  and  had  small  sums  laid 
by  in  the  savings-bank ;  who  had  always  sent  their 
children  to  the  district  school,  and  listened  them- 
selves to  at  least  one  of  Mr.  Langly's  sermons  or 
one  of  Father  O'Meara's  discourses  every  Sunday. 
These  were  anchored  to  good  order ;  they  neither 
frequented  the  bar-room  nor  attended  the  conclaves 
at  Grimsey's  Hall,  but  deplored  as  deeply  as  any 
one  the  spirit  that  was  manifesting  itself.  They 
would  have  returned  to  work  now  —  if  they  had 
dared.  To  this  class  belonged  Stevens. 

"  Why  don't  you  come  up  to  the  hall,  nights  ?  " 
asked  Durgin,  accosting  him  on  the  street,  one  aft- 
ernoon. "  You  'd  run  a  chance  of  hearing  me  hold 
forth  some  of  these  evenings." 

"  You  've  answered  your  own  question,  William. 


196  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

I  shouldn't  like  to  see  you  making  an  idiot  of 
yourself." 

"  This  is  a  square  fight  between  labor  and  capi- 
tal," returned  Durgin  with  dignity,  "and  every 
man  ought  to  take  a  hand  in  it." 

"  William,"  said  Stevens  meditatively,  "  do  you 
know  about  the  Siamese  twins  ?  " 

"  What  about  'em, —  they  're  dead,  ain't  they  ?  " 
replied  Durgin,  with  surprise. 

"  I  believe  so ;  but  when  they  was  alive,  if  you 
was  to  pinch  one  of  those  fellows,  the  other  fellow 
would  sing  out.  If  you  was  to  black  the  eye  of 
the  left-hand  chap,  the  right-hand  chap  would  n't 
have  been  able  to  see  for  a  week.  When  either  of 
'em  fetched  the  other  a  clip,  he  knocked  himself 
down.  Labor  and  capital  is  jined  just  as  those 
two  was.  When  you  've  got  this  fact  well  into 
your  skull,  William,  I  shall  be  pleased  to  listen  to 
your  ideas  at  Grimsey's  Hall  or  anywhere  else." 

Such  conservatism  as  Stevens's,  however,  was 
necessarily  swept  out  of  sight  for  the  moment.  The 
wealthier  citizens  were  in  a  state  bordering  on 
panic,  —  all  but  Mr.  Lemuel  Shackford.  In  his 
flapping  linen  duster,  for  the  weather  was  very  sul- 
try now,  Mr.  Shackford  was  seen  darting  excitedly 
from  street  to  street  and  hovering  about  the  fever- 
ish crowds,  like  the  stormy  petrel  wheeling  on  the 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  197 

edges  of  a  gale.  Usually  as  chary  of  his  sym- 
pathies as  of  his  gold,  he  astonished  every  one  by 
evincing  an  abnormal  interest  in  the  strikers.  The 
old  man  declined  to  put  down  anything  on  the  sub- 
scription paper  then  circulating ;  but  he  put  down 
his  sympathies  to  any  amount.  He  held  no  stock 
in  the  concerns  involved  ;  he  hated  Slocum,  and  he 
hated  the  directors  of  the  Miantowona  Iron  Works. 
The  least  he  hoped  was  that  Rowland  Slocum  would 
be  laid  out. 

So  far  the  strikers  had  committed  no  overt  act 
of  note,  unless  it  was  the  demolition  of  Han-Lin's 
laundry.  Stubbs,  the  provision  dealer,  had  been 
taught  the  rashness  of  exposing  samples  of  pota- 
toes in  his  door-way,  and  the  "  Tonsorial  Empo- 
rium "  of  Professor  Brown,  a  colored  citizen,  had 
been  invaded  by  two  humorists,  who,  after  having 
their  hair  curled,  refused  to  pay  for  it,  and  the  pro- 
lessor  had  been  too  agitated  to  insist.  The  story 
transpiring,  ten  or  twelve  of  the  boys  had  dropped 
in  during  the  morning,  and  got  shaved  on  the  same 
terms,  "  By  golly,  genTmen  !  "  expostulated  the 
professor,  "  ef  dis  yah  thing  goes  on,  dis  darkey 
will  be  cleaned  cl'ar  out  fo  de  week  's  done."  No 
act  of  real  violence  had  been  perpetrated  as  yet ; 
but  with  bands  of  lawless  men  roaming  over  the 
village  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night,  the  situa- 
tion was  critical. 


198  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

The  wheel  of  what  small  social  life  there  was  in 
Stillwater  had  ceased  to  revolve.  With  the  single 
exception  of  Lemuel  Shackford,  the  more  respect- 
able inhabitants  kept  in-doors  as  much  as  practica- 
ble. From  the  first  neither  Mr.  Craggie  nor  Law- 
yer Perkins  had  gone  to  the  hotel  to  consult  the 
papers  in  the  reading-room,  and  Mr.  Pinkham  did 
not  dare  to  play  on  his  flute  of  an  evening.  The 
Rev.  Arthur  Langly  found  it  politic  to  do  but  little 
visiting  in  the  parish.  His  was  not  the  pinion  to 
buffet  with  a  wind  like  this,  and  indeed  he  was  not 
explicitly  called  upon  to  do  so.  He  sat  sorrowfully 
in  his  study  day  by  day,  preparing  the  weekly  ser- 
mon, —  a  gentle,  pensive  person,  inclined  in  the 
best  of  weather  to  melancholia.  If  Mr.  Langly 
had  gone  into  arboriculture  instead  of  into  the  min- 
istry, he  would  have  planted  nothing  but  weeping- 
willows. 

In  the  mean  time  the  mill  directors  continued 
their  deliberations  in  the  bank  building,  and  had 
made  several  abortive  attempts  to  effect  an  arrange- 
ment with  the  leaders  of  the  union.  This  seemed 
every  hour  less  possible  and  more  necessary. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  seventh  day  of  the  strike 
a  crowd  gathered  in  front  of  the  residence  of  Mr. 
Alexander,  the  superintendent  of  the  Miantowona 
Iron  Works,  and  began  groaning  and  hooting.  Mr. 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  199 

Alexander  sought  out  Mr.  Craggie,  and  urged  him, 
as  a  man  of  local  weight  and  one  accustomed  to  ad- 
dressing the  populace,  to  speak  a  few  words  to  ihe 
mob.  That  was  setting  Mr.  Craggie  on  the  horns 
of  a  cruel  dilemma.  He  was  afraid  to  disoblige  the 
representative  of  so  powerful  a  corporation  as  the 
Miantowona  Iron  Works,  but  he  equally  dreaded 
to  risk  his  popularity  with  seven  or  eight  hundred 
voters ;  so,  like  the  crafty  chancellor  in  Tennyson's 
poem,  he  dallied  with  his  golden  chain,  and,  smil- 
ing, put  the  question  by. 

"  Drat  the  man  I  "  muttered  Mr.  Craggie,  "  does 
he  want  to  blast  my  whole  political  career !  /can't 
pitch  into  our  adopted  countrymen." 

There  was  a  blot  on  the  escutcheon  of  Mr.  Crag- 
gie which  he  was  very  anxious  not  to  have  uncov- 
ered by  any  chance  in  these  latter  days,  —  his  an- 
cient affiliation  with  the  deceased  native  American 
party. 

The  mob  dispersed  without  doing  damage,  but 
the  fact  that  it  had  collected  and  had  shown  an 
ugly  temper  sent  a  thrill  of  apprehension  through 
the  village.  Mr.  Slocum  came  in  a  great  flurry  to 
Richard. 

"  This  thing  ought  to  be  stopped,"  said  Mr.  Slo- 
cum. 

"  I  agree  to  that,"  replied  Richard,  bracing  him- 
self not  to  agree  to  anything  else. 


200  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  If  we  were  to  drop  that  stipulation  as  to  the 
increase  of  apprentices,  no  doubt  many  of  the  men 
would  give  over  insisting  on  an  advance." 

"  Our  only  salvation  is  to  stick  to  our  right  to 
train  as  many  workmen  as  we  choose.  The  ques- 
tion of  wages  is  of  no  account  compared  with  that ; 
the  rate  of  wages  will  adjust  itself/' 

"  If  we  could  manage  it  somehow  with  the  mar- 
ble workers,"  suggested  Mr.  Slocum,  "  that  would 
demoralize  the  other  trades,  and  they  'd  be  obliged 
to  fall  in." 

"  I  don't  see  that  they  lack  demoralization." 

"  If  something  is  n't  done,  they  '11  end  by  knock- 
ing in  our  front  doors  or  burning  us  all  up." 

"  Let  them." 

"  It  's  very  well  to  say  let  them,"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Slocum,  petulantly,  "  when  you  have  n't  any  front 
door  to  be  knocked  in  !  " 

"  But  I  have  you  and  Margaret  to  consider,  if 
there  were  actual  danger.  When  anything  like 
violence  threatens,  there  's  an  honest  shoulder  for 
every  one  of  the  hundred  and  fifty  muskets  in  the 
armory." 

"  Those  muskets  might  get  on  the  wrong  shoul- 
ders." 

"  That  is  n't  likely.  You  do  not  seem  to  know, 
sir,  that  there  is  a  strong  guard  at  the  armory  day 
and  night." 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  201 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  that." 

"  It  is  a  fact  all  the  same,"  said  Richard ;  and 
Mr.  Slocum  went  away  easier  in  his  mind,  and  re- 
mained so  —  two  or  three  hours. 

On  the  eighth,  ninth,  and  tenth  days  the  clouds 
lay  very  black  along  the  horizon.  The  marble 
workers,  who  began  to  see  their  mistake,  were  re- 
proaching the  foundry  men  with  enticing  them  into 
the  coalition,  and  the  spinners  were  hot  in  their  de- 
nunciations of  the  molders.  Ancient  personal  an- 
tagonisms that  had  been  slumbering  started  to  their 
feet.  Torrini  fell  out  of  favor,  and  in  the  midst  of 
one  of  his  finest  perorations  uncomplimentary  mis- 
siles, selected  from  the  animal  kingdom,  had  been 
thrown  at  him.  The  grand  torchlight  procession 
on  the  night  of  the  ninth  culminated  in  a  disturb- 
ance, in  which  many  men  got  injured,  several  bad- 
ly, and  the  windows  of  Brackett's  bakery  were 
stove  in.  A  point  of  light  had  pierced  the  dark- 
ness, —  the  trades  were  quarreling  among  them- 
selves ! 

The  selectmen  had  sworn  in  special  constables 
imong  the  citizens,  and  some  of  the  more  retired 
streets  were  now  patrolled  after  dark,  for  there  had 
been  threats  of  incendiarism. 

Bishop's  stables  burst  into  flames  one  midnight, 
—  whether  fired  intentionally  or  accidentally  was 


202  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

not  known ;  but  the  giant  bellows  at  Dana's  Mills 
was  slit  and  two  belts  were  cut  at  the  Miantowona 
Iron  Works  that  same  night. 

At  this  juncture  a  report  that  out-of-town  hands 
were  coming  to  replace  the  strikers  acted  on  the 
public  mind  like  petroleum  on  fire.  A  large  body 
of  workmen  assembled  near  the  railway  station, — 
to  welcome  them.  There  was  another  rumor  which 
caused  the  marble  workers  to  stare  at  each  other 
aghast.  It  was  to  the  effect  that  Mr.  Slocum,  hav- 
ing long  meditated  retiring  from  business,  had  now- 
decided  to  do  so,  and  was  consulting  with  Wynd- 
ham,  the  keeper  of  the  green-house,  about  removing 
the  division  wall  and  turning  the  marble  yard  into 
a  peach  garden.  This  was  an  unlooked-for  solution 
of  the  difficulty.  Stillwater  without  any  Slocum's 
Marble  Yard  was  chaos  come  again. 

"  Good  Lord,  boys  !  "  cried  Piggott,  "  if  Slocum 
should  do  that !  " 

Meanwhile,  Snelling's  bar  had  been  suppressed 
by  the  authorities,  and  a  posse  of  policemen,  bor- 
rowed from  South  Millville,  occupied  the  premises. 
Knots  of  beetle-browed  men,  no  longer  in  holiday 
gear,  but  chiefly  in  their  shirt-sleeves,  collected  from 
time  to  time  at  the  head  of  the  main  street,  and 
glowered  threateningly  at  the  single  policeman  pac- 
ing the  porch  of  the  tavern.  The  Stillwater  Grays 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  203 

were  under  arms  in  the  armory  over  Dundon's  drug- 
store. The  thoroughfares  had  ceased  to  be  safe  for 
any  one,  and  Margaret's  merciful  errands  were  nec- 
essarily brought  to  an  end.  How  the  poor  creat- 
ures who  had  depended  on  her  bounty  now  contin- 
ued to  exist  was  a  sorrowful  problem. 

Matters  were  at  this  point,  when  on  the  morning 
of  the  thirteenth  day  Richard  noticed  the  cadaver- 
ous face  of  a  man  peering  into  the  yard  through  the 
slats  of  the  main  gate.  Richard  sauntered  down 
there,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  The  man  was 
old  Giles,  and  with  him  stood  Lumley  and  Peterson, 
gazing  thoughtfully  at  the  sign  outside,  — 


NO  ADMITTANCE  EXCEPT  ON  BUSINESS. 


The  roughly  lettered  clapboard,  which  they  had 
heedlessly  passed  a  thousand  times,  seemed  to  have 
taken  a  novel  significance  to  them. 

Richard.  What 's  wanted  there  ? 

Giles.  \Ve,ry  affably.']  We  was  lookin'  round 
for  a  job,  Mr.  Shackford. 

Richard.  We  are  not  taking  on  any  hands  at 
present. 

Giles.  Didn't  know  but  you  was.  Somebody 
laid  you  was. 

Richard.  Somebody  is  mistaken. 


204  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

Giles.  P'rhaps  to-morrer,  or  nex'  day  ? 

Richard.  Rather  doubtful,  Giles. 

G-iles.  [Uneasily.]  Mr.  Slocum  ain't  goin'  to 
give  up  business,  is  he  ? 

Richard.  Why  should  n't  he,  if  it  does  n't  pay  ? 
The  business  is  carried  on  for  his  amusement  and 
profit ;  when  the  profit  stops  it  won't  be  amusing 
any  longer.  Mr.  Slocum  is  not  going  to  run  the 
yard  for  the  sake  of  the  Marble  Workers'  Asso- 
ciation. He  would  rather  drive  a  junk-cart.  He 
might  be  allowed  to  steer  that  himself. 

Giles.  Oh! 

Richard.  Good-morning,  Giles. 

Criles.  'Mornin',  Mr.  Shackford. 

Richard  rushed  back  to  Mr.  Slocum. 

"  The  strike  is  broken,  sir  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  The  thing  has  collapsed  !  The  tide  is  turning, 
and  has  washed  in  a  lot  of  dead  wood!  " 

"  Thank  God  ! "  cried  Mr.  Slocum. 

An  hour  or  so  later  a  deputation  of  four,  consist- 
ing of  Stevens,  Denyven,  Durgin,  and  Piggott, 
waited  upon  Mr.  Slocum  in  his  private  office,  and 
offered,  on  behalf  of  all  the  departments,  to  resume 
work  at  the  old  rates. 

Mr.  Slocum  replied  that  he  had  not  objected  to 
the  old  rates,  but  the  new,  and  that  he  accepted 
their  offer  —  conditionally. 


THE  STILLWATER  TRAGEDY.  205 

44  You  have  overlooked  one  point,  Mr.  Stevens." 

"  Which  one,  sir  ?  " 

"The  apprentices." 

"  We  thought  you  might  not  insist  there,  sir." 

"  I  insist  on  conducting  my  own  business  in  my 
own  way." 

The  voice  was  the  voice  of  Slocum,  but  the  back- 
bone was  Richard's. 

44  Then,  sir,  the  Association  don't  object  to  a 
reasonable  number  of  apprentices." 

44  How  many  is  that  ?  " 

44  As  many  as  you  want,  I  expect,  sir,"  said 
Stevens,  shuffling  his  feet. 

44  Very  well,  Stevens.  Go  round  to  the  front, 
gate  and  Mr.  Shackford  will  let  you  in." 

There  were  two  doors  to  the  office,  one  leading 
into  the  yard,  and  the  other,  by  which  the  deputa- 
tion had  entered  and  was  now  making  its  exit, 
opened  upon  the  street. 

Richard  heaved  a  vast  sigh  of  relief  as  he  took 
down  the  beam  securing  the  principal  entrance. 

44  Good-morning,  boys,"  he  chirped,  with  a  smile 
as  bright  as  newly  minted  gold.  44 1  hope  you  en- 
joyed yourselves." 

The  quartet  ducked  their  heads  bashfully,  and 
Stevens  replied,  44  Can't  speak  for  the  others,  Mr. 
Shackford,  but  I  never  enjoyed  myself  worse." 


206  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

Piggott  lingered  a  moment  behind  the  rest,  and 
looking  back  over  his  shoulder  said,  "  That  peach 
garden  was  what  fetched  us  !  " 

Richard  gave  a  loud  laugh,  for  the  peach  garden 
had  been  a  horticultural  invention  of  his  own. 

In  the  course  of  the  forenoon  the  majority  of  the 
hands  presented  themselves  at  the  office,  dropping 
into  the  yard  in  gangs  of  five  or  six,  and  nearly 
all  were  taken  on.  To  dispose  definitely  of  Lum- 
ley,  Giles,  and  Peterson,  they  were  not  taken  on 
at  S'ocum's  Yard,  though  they  continued  to  be, 
directly  or  indirectly,  Slocum's  pensioners,  even 
after  they  were  retired  to  the  town  farm. 

Once  more  the  chisels  sounded  merrily  under  the 
long  shed.  That  same  morning  the  spinners  went 
back  to  the  mules,  but  the  molders  held  out  until 
nightfall,  when  it  was  signified  to  them  that  their 
demands  would  be  complied  with. 

The  next  day  the  steam-whistles  of  the  Mian- 
towona  Iron  Works  and  Dana's  Mills  sent  the 
echoes  flying  beyond  that  undulating  line  of  pines 
and  hemlocks  which  half  encircles  Stilhvater,  and 
falls  away  loosely  on  either  side,  like  an  unclasped 
girdle. 

A  calm,  as  if  from  out  the  cloudless  blue  sky 
that  arched  it  day  after  day,  seemed  to  drift  down 
upon  the  village.  Han-Lin,  with  no  more  facial 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  207 

expression  than  an  orange,  suddenly  reappeared  on 
the  streets,  and  went  about  repairing  his  laundry, 
unmolested.  The  children  were  playing  in  the 
sunny  lanes  again,  unafraid,  and  mothers  sat  on 
doorsteps  in  the  summer  twilights,  singing  softly 
to  the  baby  in  arm.  There  was  meat  on  the  ta- 
ble, and  the  tea-kettle  hummed  comfortably  at  the 
back  of  the  stove.  The  very  winds  that  rustled 
through  the  fragrant  pines,  and  wandered  fitfully 
across  the  vivid  green  of  the  salt  marshes,  breathed 
peace  and  repose. 

Then,  one  morning,  this  blissful  tranquillity  was 
rudely  shattered.  Old  Mr.  Lemuel  Shackford  had 
been  found  murdered  in  his  own  house  in  Welch's 
Court. 


XVIII. 

THE  general  effect  on  Stilhvater  of  Mr.  Shack- 
ford's  death  and  the  peculiar  circumstances  attend- 
ing the  tragedy  have  been  set  forth  in  the  earlier 
chapters  of  this  narrative.  The  influence  which 
that  event  exerted  upon  several  persons  then  but 
imperfectly  known  to  the  reader  is  now  to  occupy 
us. 

On  the  conclusion  of  the  strike,  Richard  had  re- 
turned, in  the  highest  spirits,  to  his  own  rooms  in 
Lime  Street;  but  the  quiet  week  that  followed 
found  him  singularly  depressed.  His  nerves  had 
been  strung  to  their  utmost  tension  during  those 
thirteen  days  of  suspense  ;  he  had  assumed  no  light 
responsibility  in  the  matter  of  closing  the  yard, 
and  there  had  been  moments  when  the  task  of  sus- 
taining Mr.  Slocum  had  appeared  almost  hopeless. 
Now  that  the  strain  was  removed  a  reaction  set 
in,  and  Richard  felt  himself  unnerved  by  the  flee- 
ing shadow  of  the  trouble  which  had  not  caused 
him  to  flinch  so  long  as  it  faced  him. 

On  the  morning  and  at  the  moment  when  Mary 
Hennessey  was  pushing  open  the  scullery  door  of 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  209 

the  house  in  Welch's  Court,  and  was  about  to 
come  upon  the  body  of  the  forlorn  old  man  lying 
there  in  his-  night-dress,  Richard  sat  eating  his 
breakfast  in  a  silent  and  preoccupied  mood.  He 
had  retired  very  late  the  previous  night,  and  his 
lack-lustre  eyes  showed  the  effect  of  insufficient 
sleep.  His  single  fellow-boarder,  Mr.  Pinkham, 
had  not  returned  from  his  customary  early  walk, 
and  only  Richard  and  Mrs.  Spooner,  the  landlady, 
were  at  table.  The  former  was  in  the  act  of  lift- 
ing the  coffee-cup  to  his  lips,  when  the  school- 
master burst  excitedly  into  the  room. 

"  Old  Mr.  Shackford  is  dead  ! "  he  exclaimed, 
dropping  into  a  chair  near  the  door.  "  There  's  a 
report  down  in  the  village  that  he  has  been  mur- 
dered. I  don't  know  if  it  is  true God  for- 
give my  abruptness!  I  did  n't  think !"  and  Mr. 
Pinkham  turned  an  apologetic  face  towards  Rich- 
ard, who  sat  there  deathly  pale,  holding  the  cup 
rigidly  within  an  inch  or  two  of  his  lip,  and  star- 
ing blankly  into  space  like  a  statue. 

"I  —  I  ought  to  have  reflected,"  murmured  the 
school-master,  covered  with  confusion  at  his  mala- 
droitness.  "  It  was  very  reprehensible  in  Craggie 
to  make  such  an  announcement  to  me  so  suddenly, 
on  a  street  corner.  I  —  I  was  quite  upset  by  it." 

Richard  pushed  back  his  chair  without  replying, 
14 


210  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

and  passed  into  the  hall,  where  he  encountered  a 
messenger  from  Mr.  Slocum,  confirming  Mr.  Pink- 
ham's  intelligence,  but  supplementing  it  with  the 
rumor  that  Lemuel  Shackford  had  committed  sui- 
cide. 

Richard  caught  up  his  hat  from  a  table,  and 
hurried  to  Welch's  Court.  Before  reaching  the 
house  he  had  somewhat  recovered  his  outward  com- 
posure ;  but  he  was  still  pale  and  internally  much 
agitated,  for  he  had  received  a  great  shock,  as  Law- 
yer Perkins  afterwards  observed  to  Mr.  Ward  in 
the  reading-room  of  the  tavern.  Both  these  gentle- 
men were  present  when  Richard  arrived,  as  were 
also  several  of  the  immediate  neighbors  and  two 
constables.  The  latter  were  guarding  the  door 
against  the  crowd,  which  had  already  begun  to  col- 
lect in  the  front  yard. 

A  knot  of  carpenters,  with  their  tool-boxes  on 
their  shoulders,  had  halted  at  the  garden  gate  on 
their  way  to  Bishop's  new  stables,  and  were  glanc- 
ing curiously  at  the  unpainted  faqade  of  the  house, 
which  seemed  to  have  taken  on  a  remote,  bewil- 
dered expression,  as  if  it  had  an  inarticulate  sense 
of  the  horror  within.  The  men  ceased  their  whis- 
pered conversation  as  Richard  approached,  and  re- 
spectfully moved  aside  to  let  him  pass. 

Nothing  had  been  changed  in  the  cheerless  room 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  211 

on  the  ground  floor,  with  its  veneered  mahogany 
furniture  and  its  yellowish  leprous  wall-paper, 
peeling  off  at  the  seams  here  and  there.  A  cane- 
seated  chair,  overturned  near  the  table,  had  been 
left  untouched,  and  the  body  was  still  lying  in  the 
position  in  which  the  Hennessey  girl  had  discovered 
it.  A  strange  chill  —  something  unlike  any  at- 
mospherical sharpness,  a  chill  that  seemed  to  exhale 
from  the  thin,  pinched  nostrils  —  permeated  the 
apartment.  The  orioles  were  singing  madly  out- 
side, their  vermilion  bosoms  glowing  like  live  coals 
against  the  tender  green  of  the  foliage,  and  ap- 
pearing to  break  into  flame  as  they  took  sudden 
flights  hither  and  thither ;  but  within  all  was  still. 
On  entering  the  chamber  Richard  was  smitten  by 
the  silence,  —  that  silence  which  shrouds  the  dead, 
and  is  like  no  other.  Lemuel  Shackford  had  not 
been  kind  or  cousinly  ;  he  had  blighted  Richard's 
childhood  with  harshness  and  neglect,  and  had 
lately  heaped  cruel  insult  upon  him  ;  but  as  he 
stood  there  alone,  and  gazed  for  a  moment  at  the 
firmly  shut  lips,  upon  which  the  mysterious  white 
dust  of  death  had  already  settled,  —  the  lips  that 
were  never  to  utter  any  more  bitter  things,  —  the 
tears  gathered  in  Richard's  eyes  and  ran  slowly 
down  his  cheeks.  After  all  said  and  done,  Lemuel 
Shackford  was  his  kinsman,  and  blood  is  thicker 
than  water ! 


212  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

Coroner  Whidden  shortly  appeared  on  the  scene, 
accompanied  by  a  number  of  persons ;  a  jury  was 
impaneled,  and  then  began  that  inquest  which  re- 
sulted in  shedding  so  very  little  light  on  the  catas- 
trophe. 

The  investigation  completed,  there  were  endless 
details  to  attend  to, — papers  to  be  hurriedly  ex- 
amined and  sealed,  and  arrangements  made  for  the 
funeral  on  the  succeeding  day.  These  matters  oc- 
cupied Richard  until  late  in  the  afternoon,  when 
he  retire^  to  his  lodgings,  looking  in  on  Margaret 
for  a  few  minutes  on  his  way  home. 

"  This  is  too  dreadful !  "  said  Margaret,  clinging 
to  his  hand,  with  fingers  nearly  as  icy  as  his  own. 

"  It  is  unspeakably  sad,"  answered  Richard,  — 
"  the  saddest  thing  I  ever  knew." 

"  Who  —  who  could  have  been  so  cruel  ?  " 

Richard  shook  his  head. 

"  No  one  knows." 

The  funeral  took  place  on  Thursday,  and  on  Fri- 
day morning,  as  has  been  stated,  Mr.  Taggett  ar- 
rived in  Stillwater,  and  installed  himself  in  Welch's 
Court,  to  the  wonder  of  many  in  the  village,  who 
would  not  have  slept  a  night  in  that  house,  with 
only  a  servant  in  the  north  gable,  for  half  the  uni- 
verse. Mr.  Taggett  was  a  person  who  did  not  allow 
himself  to  be  swayed  by  his  imagination. 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  213 

Here,  then,  he  began  his  probing  of  a  case  which, 
on  the  surface,  promised  to  be  a  very  simple  one. 
The  man  who  had  been  seen  driving  rapidly  along 
the  turnpike  sometime  near  daybreak,  on  Wednes- 
day, was  presumably  the  man  who  could  tell  him  all 
about  it.  But  it  did  not  prove  so.  Neither  Thomas 
Bluf  ton,  nor  William.  Durgin,  nor  any  of  the  tramps 
subsequently  obliged  to  drop  into  autobiography 
could  be  connected  with  the  affair. 

These  first  failures  served  to  stimulate  Mr.  Tag-, 
gett ;  it  required  a  complex  case  to  stir  his  ingenu- 
ity and  sagacity.  That  the  present  was  not  a  com- 
plex case  he  was  still  convinced,  after  four  days' 
futile  labor  upon  it.  Mr.  Shackford  had  been 
killed  —  either  with  malice  prepense  or  on  the  spur 
of  the  moment — for  his  money.  The  killing  had 
likely  enough  not  been  premeditated ;  the  old  man 
had  probably  opposed  the  robbery.  Now,  among 
the  exceptionally  rough  population  of  the  town 
there  were  possibly  fifty  men  who  would  not  have 
hesitated  to  strike  down  Mr.  Shackford  if  he  had 
caught  them  flagrante  delicto  and  resisted  them,  or 
attempted  to  call  for  succor.  That  the  crime  was 
committed  by  some  one  in  Stillwater  or  in  the 
neighborhood  Mr.  Taggett  had  never  doubted  since 
the  day  of  his  arrival.  The  clumsy  manner  in 
which  the  staple  had  been  wrenched  from  the  scul- 


214  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

lery  door  showed  the  absence  of  a  professional 
hand.  Then  the  fact  that  the  deceased  was  in  the 
habit  of  keeping  money  in  his  bedchamber  was  a 
fact  well  known  in  the  village,  and  not  likely  to  be 
known  outside  of  it,  though  of  course  it  might  have 
been.  It  was  clearly  necessary  for  Mr.  Taggett  to 
carry  his  investigation  into  the  workshops  and 
among  the  haunts  of  the  class  which  was  indubi- 
tably to  furnish  him  with  the  individual  he  wanted. 
Above  all,  it  was  necessary  that  the  investigation 
should  be  secret.  An  obstacle  obtruded  itself  here : 
everybody  in  Stillwater  knew  everybody,  and  a 
stranger  appearing  on  the  streets  or  dropping  fre- 
quently into  the  tavern  would  not  escape  comment. 
The  man  with  the  greatest  facility  for  making 
the  requisite  researches  would  of  course  be  some 
workman.  But  a  workman  was  the  very  agent  not 
to  be  employed  under  the  circumstances.  How 
many  times,  and  by  what  strange  fatality,  had  a 
guilty  party  been  selected  to  shadow  his  own  move- 
ments, or  those  of  an  accomplice  I  No,  Mr.  Tag- 
gett must  rely  only  on  himself,  and  his  plan  was 
forthwith  matured.  Its  execution,  however,  was 
delayed  several  days,  the  cooperation  of  Mr.  Slo- 
cum  and  Mr.  Richard  Shackford  being  indispensa- 
ble. 

At  this  stage  Richard  went  to  New  York,  where 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  215 

his  cousin  had  made  extensive  investments  in  real 
estate.  For  a  careful  man,  the  late  Mr.  Shackford 
had  allowed  his  affairs  there  to  become  strangely 
tangled.  The  business  would  detain  Richard  a 
fortnight. 

Three  days  after  his  departure  Mr.  Taggett  him- 
self left  Stillwater,  having  apparently  given  up  the 
case ;  a  proceeding  which  was  severely  criticised, 
not  only  in  the  columns  of  The  Stillwater  Gazette, 
but  by  the  townsfolks  at  large,  who  immediately 
relapsed  into  a  state  of  apprehension  approximat- 
ing that  of  the  morning  when  the  crime  was  discov- 
ered. Mr.  Pinkham,  who  was  taking  tea  that 
evening  at  the  Danas',  threw  the  family  into  a 
panic  by  asserting  his  belief  that  this  was  merely 
the  first  of  a  series  of  artistic  assassinations  in  the 
manner  of  those  Memorable  Murders  recorded  by 
De  Quincey.  Mr.  Pinkham  may  have  said  this  to 
impress  the  four  Dana  girls  with  the  variety  of  his 
reading,  but  the  recollection  of  De  Quincey 's  har- 
rowing paper  had  the  effect  of  so  unhinging  the 
young  school-master  that  when  he  found  himself, 
an  hour  or  two  afterwards,  in  the  lonely,  unlighted 
street  he  flitted  home  like  a  belated  ghost,  and  was 
ready  to  drop  at  every  tree-box. 

The  next  forenoon  a  new  hand  was  taken  on  at 
Slocum's  Yard.  The  new  hand,  who  had  come  on 


216  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

foot  from  South  Millville,  at  which  town  he  had 
been  set  down  by  the  seven  o'clock  express  that 
morning,  was  placed  in  the  apprentice  department, 
—  there  were  five  or  six  apprentices  now.  Though 
all  this  was  part  of  an  understood  arrangement,  Mr. 
Slocum  nearly  doubted  the  fidelity  of  his  own  eyes 
when  Mr.  Taggett,  a  smooth-faced  young  fellow  of 
one  and  twenty,  if  so  old,  with  all  the  traits  of  an 
ordinary  workingman  down  to  the  neglected  finger- 
nails, stepped  up  to  the  desk  to  have  the  name  of 
Blake  entered  on  the  pay-roll.  Either  by  chance 
or  by  design,  Mr.  Taggett  had  appeared  but  seldom 
on  the  streets  of  Stillwater  ;  the  few  persons  who 
had  had  anything  like  familiar  intercourse  with 
him  in  his  professional  capacity  were  precisely  the 
persons  with  whom  his  present  movements  were  not 
likely  to  bring  him  into  juxtaposition,  and  he  ran 
slight  risk  of  recognition  by  others.  With  bis  hair 
closely  cropped,  and  the  overhanging  brown  mus- 
tache removed,  the  man  was  not  so  much  disguised 
as  transformed.  "  I  should  n't  have  known  him  !  " 
muttered  Mr.  Slocum,  as  he  watched  Mr.  Taggett 
passing  from  the  office  with  his  hat  in  his  hand. 
During  the  ensuing  ten  or  twelve  days  Mr.  Slocum 
never  wholly  succeeded  in  extricating  himself  from 
the  foggy  uncertainty  generated  by  that  one  brief 
interview.  From  the  moment  Mr.  Taggett  was  as- 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  217 

signed  a  bench  under  the  sheds,  Mr.  Slocum  saw 
little  or  nothing  of  him. 

Mr.  Taggett  took  lodging  in  a  room  in  one  of  the 
most  crowded  of  the  low  boarding-houses,  —  a  room 
accommodating  two  beds  besides  his  own  :  the  first 
occupied  by  a  brother  neophyte  in  marble-cutting, 
and  the  second  by  a  morose  middle-aged  man  with 
one  eyebrow  a  trifle  higher  than  the  other,  as  if  it 
had  been  wrenched  out  of  line  by  the  strain  of  ha- 
bitual intoxication.  This  man's  name  was  Wollas- 
ton,  and  he  worked  at  Dana's. 

Mr.  Taggett's  initial  move  was  to  make  himself 
popular  in  the  marble  yard,  and  especially  at  the 
tavern,  where  he  spent  money  freely,  though  not 
so  freely  as  to  excite  any  remark  except  that  the 
lad  was  running  through  pretty  much  all  his  small 
pay,  —  a  recklessness  which  was  charitably  con- 
doned in  Snelling's  bar-room.  He  formed  multi- 
farious friendships,  and  had  so  many  sensible  views 
on  the  labor  problem,  advocating  the  general  extin- 
guishment of  capitalists,  and  so  on,  that  his  admit- 
tance to  the  Marble  Workers'  Association  resolved 
itself  into  merely  a  question  of  time.  The  old  prej- 
udice against  apprentices  was  already  wearing  oil 
The  quiet,  evasive  man  of  few  words  was  now  a  lo- 
quacious talker,  holding  his  own  with  the  hardest 
hitters,  and  very  skillful  in  giving  offense  to  no  one. 


218  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  Whoever  picks  up  Blake  for  a  fool,"  Dexter  re- 
marked one  night,  "  will  put  him  down  again." 
Not  a  shadow  of  suspicion  followed  Mr.  Taggett  in 
his  various  comings  and  goings.  He  seemed  merely 
a  good-natured,  intelligent  devil  ;  perhaps  a  little 
less  devilish  and  a  trifle  more  intelligent  than  the 
rest,  but  not  otherwise  different.  Denyven,  Peters, 
Dexter,  Willson,  and  others  in  and  out  of  the  S lo- 
cum clique  were  Blake's  sworn  friends.  In  brief, 
Mr.  Taggett  had  the  amplest  opportunities  to  pros- 
ecute his  studies.  Only  for  a  pained  look  which 
sometimes  latterly  shot  into  his  eyes,  as  he  worked 
at  the  bench,  or  as  he  walked  alone  in  the  street, 
one  would  have  imagined  that  he  was  thoroughly 
enjoying  the  half-vagabond  existence. 

The  supposition  would  have  been  erroneous,  for 
in  the  progress  of  those  fourteen  days'  apprentice- 
ship Mr.  Taggett  had  received  a  wound  in  the  most 
sensitive  part  of  his  nature :  he  had  been  forced  to 
give  up  what  no  man  ever  relinquishes  without  a 
wrench,  —  his  own  idea. 

With  the  exception  of  an  accident  in  Dana's 
Mill,  by  which  Torrim's  hand  had  been  so  badly 
mangled  that  amputation  was  deemed  necessary, 
the  two  weeks  had  been  eventless  outside  of  Mr. 
Taggett's  personal  experience.  What  that  expe- 
rience was  will  transpire  in  its  proper  place.  Mar- 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  219 

garet  was  getting  daily  notes  from  Richard,  and 
Mr.  Slocum,  overburdened  with  the  secret  of  Mr. 
Taggett's  presence  in  the  yard,  —  a  secret  confined 
exclusively  to  Mr.  Slocum,  Richard,  and  Justice 
Beemis,  —  was  restlessly  awaiting  developments. 

The  developments  came  that  afternoon  when  Mr. 
Taggett  walked  into  the  office  and  startled  Mr. 
Slocum,  sitting  at  the  desk.  The  two  words  which 
Mr.  Taggett  then  gravely  and  coldly  whispered  in 
Mr.  Slocum's  ear  were,  — 

"  RICHARD  SHACKFORD." 


XIX. 

MR.  SLOCUM,  who  had  partly  risen  from  the 
chair,  sank  back  into  his  seat.  "  Good  God  !  "  he 
said,  turning  very  pale.  "  Are  you  mad  !  " 

Mr.  Taggett  realized  the  cruel  shock  which  the 
pronouncing  of  that  name  must  have  caused  Mr. 
Slocum.  Mr.  Taggett  had  meditated  his  line  of 
action,  and  had  decided  that  the  most  merciful 
course  was  brusquely  to  charge  young  Shackford 
with  the  crime,  and  allow  Mr.  Slocum  to  sustain 
himself  for  a  while  with  the  indignant  disbelief 
which  would  be  natural  to  him,  situated  as  he  was. 
He  would  then  in  a  manner  be  prepared  for  the 
revelations  which,  if  suddenly  presented,  would 
crush  him. 

If  Mr.  Taggett  was  without  imagination,  as  he 
claimed,  he  was  not  without  a  certain  feminine 
quickness  of  sympathy  often  found  in  persons  en- 
gaged in  professions  calculated  to  blunt  the  finer 
sensibilities.  In  his  intercourse  with  Mr.  Slocum 
at  the  Shackford  house,  Mr.  Taggett  had  been 
won  by  the  singular  gentleness  and  simplicity  of 
the  man,  and  was  touched  by  his  misfortune. 


THE   STILLWATER  TRAGEDY.  221 

After  his  exclamation  Mr.  Slocum  did  not  speak 
for  a  moment  or  two,  but  with  his  elbows  resting 
on  the  edge  of  the  desk  sat  motionless,  like  a  per- 
son stunned.  Then  he  slowly  lifted  his  face,  to 
which  the  color  had  returned,  and  making  a  move- 
ment with  his  right  hand  as  if  he  were  sweeping 
away  cobwebs  in  front  of  him  rose  from  the  chair. 

"  You  are  simply  mad,"  he  said,  looking  Mr. 
Taggett  squarely  and  calmly  in  the  eyes.  "  Are 
you  aware  •  of  Mr.  Richard  Shackford's  character 
and  his  position  here  ?  " 

"  Perfectly." 

"  Do  you  know  that  he  is  to  marry  my  daugh- 
ter?" 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  sir." 

"  You  may  spare  me  that.  It  is  quite  unneces- 
sary. You  have  fallen  into  some  horrible  delusion. 
T  hope  you  will  be  able  to  explain  it." 

"  I  am  prepared  to  do  so,  sir." 

"  Are  you  serious  ?  " 

"  Very  serious,  Mr.  Slocum." 

"  You  actually  imagine  that  Richard  Shackford 
—  Pshaw !  It 's  simply  impossible !  " 

"  I  am  too  young  a  man  to  wish  even  to  seem 
wiser  than  you,  but  my  experience  has  taught  me 
that  nothing  is  impossible." 

"  I  begin  to  believe  so  myself.     I  suppose  you 


222  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

have  grounds,  or  something  you  consider  grounds, 
for  your  monstrous  suspicion.  What  are  they?  I 
demand  to  be  fully  informed  of  what  you  have 
been  doing  in  the  yard,  before  you  bring  disgrace 
upon  me  and  my  family  by  inconsiderately  acting 
on  some  wild  theory  which  perhaps  ten  words  can 
refute." 

"  I  should  be  in  the  highest  degree  criminal,  Mr. 
Slocum,  if  I  were  to  make  so  fearful  an  accusation 
against  any  man  unless  I  had  the  most  incontest- 
able evidence  in  my  hands." 

Mr.  Taggett  spoke  with  such  cold-blooded  con- 
viction that  a  chill  crept  over  Mr.  Slocum,  in  spite 
of  him. 

"  What  is  the  nature  of  this  evidence  ?  " 

"  Up  to  the  present  stage,  purely  circumstan- 
tial." 

"  I  can  imagine  that,"  said  Mr.  Slocum,  with  a 
slight  smile. 

"But  so  conclusive  as  to  require  no  collateral 
evidence.  The  testimony  of  an  eye-witness  of  the 
crime  could  scarcely  add  to  my  knowledge  of  what 
occurred  that  Tuesday  night  in  Lemuel  Shackford's 
house." 

"  Indeed,  it  is  all  so  clear  !  But  of  course  a  few 
eye-witnesses  will  turn  up  eventually,"  said  Mr. 
Slocum,  whose  whiteness  about  the  lips  discounted 
the  assurance  of  his  sarcasm. 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  223 

"  That  is  not  improbable,"  returned  Mr.  Tag- 
gett  gravely. 

"  And  meanwhile  what  are  the  facts  ?  " 

"  They  are  not  easily  stated.  I  have  kept  a  rec- 
ord of  my  work  day  by  day,  since  the  morning  I 
entered  the  yard.  The  memoranda  are  necessarily 
confused,  the  important  and  the  unimportant  being 
jumbled  together;  but  the  record  as  it  stands  will 
answer  your  question  more  fully  than  I  could,  even 
if  I  had  the  time  —  which  I  have  not  —  to  go  over 
the  case  with  you.  I  can  leave  these  notes  in  your 
hands,  if  you  desire  it.  When  I  return  from  New 
York"- 

"  You  are  going  to  New  York !  "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Slocum,  with  a  start.  "  When  ?" 

"  This  evening." 

"  If  you  lay  a  finger  on  Richard  Shackford,  you 
will  make  the  mistake  of  your  life,  Mr.  Taggett  I  " 

"  I  have  other  business  there.  Mr.  Shackford 
will  be  in  Stillwater  to-morrow  night.  He  en- 
gaged a  state-room  on  the  Fall  River  boat  this 
morning." 

"  How  can  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  Since  last  Tuesday  none  of  his  movements 
have  been  unknown  to  me." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  have  set  your 
miserable  spies  upon  him  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Slocum. 


224  THE   STILLWATEB  TRAGEDY. 

"  I  should  not  state  the  fact  in  just  those  words," 
Mr.  Taggett  answered.  "  The  fact  remains." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Mr.  Slocum.  "  I  am  not 
quite  myself.  Can  you  wonder  at  it?" 

"  I  do  not  wonder." 

"  Give  me  those  papers  you  speak  of,  Mr.  Tag- 
gett. I  would  like  to  look  through  them.  I  see 
that  you  are  a  very  obstinate  person  when  you  have 
once  got  a  notion  into  your  head.  Perhaps  I  can 
help  you  out  of  your  error  before  it  is  irreparable." 
Then,  after  hesitating  a  second,  Mr.  Slocum  added, 
"  I  may  speak  of  this  to  my  daughter  ?  Indeed, 
I  could  scarcely  keep  it  from  her." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  better  she  should  be  informed." 

"  And  Mr.  Shackford,  when  he  returns  to-mor- 
row ?  " 

"  If  he  broaches  the  subject  of  his  cousin's  death, 
I  advise  you  to  avoid  it." 

"  Why  should  I  ?  " 

"  It  might  save  you  or  Miss  Slocum  some  awk- 
wardness,—  but  you  must  use  your  own  discre- 
tion. As  the  matter  stands  it  makes  no  difference 
whether  Mr.  Shackford  knows  his  position  to-day 
or  to-morrow.  It  is  too  late  for  him  to  avail  him- 
self of  the  knowledge.  Otherwise,  of  course,  I 
should  not  have  given  myself  away  in  this  fash 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  225 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Slocum,  with  an  impa- 
tient movement  of  his  shoulders;  "neither  I  nor 
my  daughter  will  open  our  lips  on  this  topic.  In 
the  mean  while  you  are  to  take  no  further  steps 
without  advising  me.  That  is  understood  ?  " 

"  That  is  perfectly  understood,"  returned  Mr. 
Taggett,  drawing  a  narrow  red  note-book  from  the 
inner  pocket  of  his  workman's  blouse,,  and  produc- 
ing at  the  same  time  a  small  nickel- plated  door- 
key.  "  This  is  the  key  of  Mr.  Shackford's  private 
workshop  in  the  extension.  I  have  not  been  able 
to  replace  it  on  the  mantel-shelf  of  his  sitting-room 
in  Lime  Street.  Will  you  have  the  kindness  to  see 
that  that  is  done  at  once  ? " 

A  moment  later  Mr.  Slocum  stood  alone  in  the 
office,  with  Mr.  Taggett's  diary  in  his  hand.  It 
was  one  of  those  costly  little  volumes  —  gilt-edged 
and  bound  in  fragrant  crushed  Levant  morocco  — 
with  which  city  officials  are  annually  supplied  by  a 
community  of  grateful  taxpayers. 

The  dark  crimson  of  the  flexible  covers,  as  soft 
and  slippery  to  the  touch  as  a  snake's  skin,  was 
perhaps  the  fitting  symbol  of  the  darker  story  that 
lay  coiled  within.  With  a  gesture  of  repulsion,  as 
if  some  such  fancy  had  flitted  through  his  mind, 
Mr.  Slocum  tossed  the  note-book  on  the  desk  in 
tront  of  him,  and  stood  a  few  minutes  moodily 

15 


226  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

watching  the  reflets  of  the  crinkled  leather  as  the 
afternoon  sunshine  struck  across  it.  Beneath  his 
amazement  and  indignation  he  had  been  chilled  to 
the  bone  by  Mr.  Taggett's  brutal  confidence.  It 
was  enough  to  chill  one,  surely ;  and  in  spite  of 
himself  Mr.  Slocum  began  to  feel  a  certain  inde- 
finable dread  of  that  little  crimson-bound  book. 

Whatever ,  it  contained,  the  reading  of  those 
pages  was  to  be  a  repellent  task  to  him ;  it  was  a 
task  to  which  he  could  not  bring  himself  at  the  mo- 
ment ;  to-night,  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  chamber, 
he  would  sift  Mr.  Taggett's  baleful  fancies.  Thus 
temporizing,  Mr.  Slocum  dropped  the  volume  into 
his  pocket,  locked  the  office  door  behind  him,  and 
wandered  down  to  Dundon's  drug-store  to  kill  the 
intervening  hour  before  supper-time.  Dundon's 
was  the  aristocratic  lounging  place  of  the  village, 
—  the  place  where  the  only  genuine  Havana  cigars 
in  Stillwater  were  to  be  had,  and  where  the  favored 
few,  the  initiated,  could  get  a  dash  of  hochheimer 
or  cognac  with  their  soda-water. 

At  supper,  that  evening,  Mr.  Slocum  addressed 
scarcely  a  word  to  Margaret,  and  Margaret  was 
also  silent.  The  days  were  dragging  heavily  with 
her ;  she  was  missing  Richard.  Her  own  daring 
travels  had  never  extended  beyond  Boston  or  Provi- 
dence ;  and  New  York,  with  Richard  in  it,  seeme  1 


THE   STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY.  227 

drearily  far  away.  Mr.  Slocum  withdrew  to  his 
chamber  shortly  after  nine  o'clock,  and,  lighting 
the  pair  of  candles  on  the  dressing-table,  began  his 
examination  of  Mr.  Taggett's  memoranda. 

At  midnight  the  watchman  on  his  lonely  beat 
saw  those  two  candles  still  burning. 


XX. 

ME.  TAGGETT'S  diary  was  precisely  a  diary,  — 
disjoined,  full  of  curt,  obscure  phrases  and  irrel- 
evant reflections,  —  for  which  reason  it  will  not  be 
reproduced  here.  Though  Mr.  Slocum  pondered 
every  syllable,  and  now  and  then  turned  back  pain- 
fully to  reconsider  some  doubtful  passage,  it  is  not 
presumed  that  the  reader  will  care  to  do  so.  An 
abstract  of  the  journal,  with  occasional  quotation 
where  the  writer's  words  seem  to  demand  it,  will 
be  sufficient  for  the  narrative. 

In  the  opening  pages  Mr.  Taggett  described  his 
novel  surroundings  with  a  minuteness  which  con- 
trasted oddly  with  the  brief,  hurried  entries  further 
on.  He  found  himself,  as  he  had  anticipated,  in  a 
society  composed  of  some  of  the  most  heterogeneous 
elements.  Stillwater,  viewed  from  a  certain  point, 
was  a  sort  of  microcosm,  a  little  international  rag- 
fair  to  which  nearly  every  country  on  earth  had 
contributed  one  of  its  shabby  human  products.  "  I 
am  moving,"  wrote  Mr.  Taggett,  "  in  an  atmos- 
phere in  which  any  crime  is  possible.  I  give  my- 
self seven  days  at  the  outside  to  light  upon  the 


,  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  229 

traces  of  Shackford's  murderer.  I  feel  him  in  the 
air."  The  writer's  theory  was  that  the  man  would 
bi  tray  his  identity  in  one  of  two  ways  :  either  by 
talking  unguardedly,  or  by  indulging  in  expendi- 
tures not  warranted  by  his  means  and  position.  If 
several  persons  had  been  concerned  in  the  crime, 
nothing  was  more  likely  than  a  disagreement  over 
the  spoil,  and  consequent  treachery  on  the  part  of 
one  of  them.  Or,  again,  some  of  the  confederates 
might  become  alarmed,  and  attempt  to  save  them 
selves  by  giving  away  their  comrades.  Mr.  Tag- 
gett, however,  leaned  to  the  belief  that  the  assassin 
had  had  no  accomplices. 

The  sum  taken  from  Mr.  Shackford's  safe  was  a 
comparatively  large  one,  —  five  hundred  dollars  in 
gold  and  nearly  double  that  amount  in  bank-notes. 
Neither  the  gold  nor  the  paper  bore  any  known 
mark  by  which  it  could  be  recognized  ;  the  burglar 
had  doubtless  assured  himself  of  this,  and  would 
not  hesitate  to  disburse  the  money.  That  was 
even  a  safer  course,  judiciously  worked,  than  to 
secrete  it.  The  point  was,  Would  he  have  suffi- 
cient self-control  to  get  rid  of  it  by  degrees?  The 
chances,  Mr.  Taggett  argued,  were  ten  to  one  he 
would  not. 

A  few  pages  further  on  Mr.  Taggett  compli- 
ments the  Unknown  on  the  adroit  manner  in  which 


230  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

he  is  conducting  himself.  He  has  neither  let  slip 
a  suspicious  word,  nor  made  an  incautious  display 
of  his  booty.  Snelling's  bar  was  doing  an  unusu- 
ally light  business.  No  one  appeared  to  have  any 
money.  Many  of  the  men  had  run  deeply  into 
debt  during  the  late  strike,  and  were  now  drink- 
ing moderately.  In  the  paragraph  which  closes  the 
week's  record  Mr.  Taggett's  chagrin  is  evident. 
He  confesses  that  he  is  at  fault.  "  My  invisible 
friend  does  not  materialize  so  successfully  as  I  ex- 
pected," is  Mr.  Taggett's  comment. 

His  faith  in  the  correctness  of  his  theory  had 
not  abated  ;  but  he  continued  his  observations  in  a 
less  sanguine  spirit.  These  observations  were  not 
limited  to  the  bar-room  or  the"  workshop ;  he  in- 
formed himself  of  the  domestic  surroundings  of 
his  comrades.  Where  his  own  scrutiny  could  not 
penetrate,  he  employed  the  aid  of  correspondents. 
He  knew  what  workmen  had  money  in  the  local 
savings-bank,  and  the  amount  of  each  deposit.  In 
the  course  of  his  explorations  of  the  shady  side 
of  Stillwater  life,  Mr.  Taggett  unearthed  many 
amusing  and  many  pathetic  histories,  but  nothing 
that  served  his  end.  Finally,  he  began  to  be  dis- 
couraged. 

Returning  home  from  the  tavern,  one  night,  in 
a  rather  desponding  mood,  he  found  the  man 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  231 

Wollaston  smoking  his  pipe  in  bed.  Wollaston 
was  a  taciturn  man  generally,  but  this  night  he 
was  conversational,  and  Mr.  Taggett,  too  restless 
to  sleep,  fell  to  chatting  with  him.  Did  he  know 
much  about  the  late  Mr.  Shackford  ?  Yes,  he  had 
known  him  well  enough,  in  an  off  way,  —  not  to 
speak  to  him  ;  everybody  knew  him  in  Stillwater  ; 
he  was  a  sort  of  miser,  hated  everybody,  and  bul- 
lied everybody.  It  was  a  wonder  somebody  did  n't 
knock  the  old  silvertop  on  the  head  years  ago. 

Thus  Mr.  Wollaston  grimly,  with  his  pores 
stopped  up  with  iron-filings,  —  a  person  to  whom 
it  would  come  quite  easy  to  knock  any  one  on  the 
head  for  a  slight  difference  of  opinion.  He  amused 
Mr.  Taggett  in  his  present  humor. 

No,  he  was  n't  aware  that  Shackford  had  had 
trouble  with  any  particular  individual ;  believed  he 
did  have  a  difficulty  once  with  Slocum,  the  marble 
man  ;  but  he  was  always  fetching  suits  against  the 
town  and  shying  lawyers  at  the  mill  directors, — 
a  disagreeable  old  cuss  altogether.  Adopted  his 
cousin,  one  time,  but  made  the  house  so  hot  for  him 
that  the  lad  ran  off  to  sea,  and  since  then  had  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  old  bilk. 

Indeed  !  What  sort  of  fellow  was  young  Shack- 
ford? Mr.  Wollaston  could  not  say  of  his  own 
knowledge  ;  thought  him  a  plucky  chap  ;  he  had 


232  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

put  a  big  Italian  named  Torrini  out  of  the  yard,  one 
day,  for  talking  back.  Who  was  Torrini?  The 
man  that  got  hurt  last  week  in  the  Dana  Mill.  Who 
were  Richard  Shackford's  intimates  ?  Could  n't 
say ;  had  seen  him  with  Mr.  Pinkham,  the  school- 
master, and  Mr.  Craggie,  —  went  with  the  upper 
crust  generally.  Was  going  to  be  partner  in  the 
marble  yard  and  marry  Slocum's  daughter.  Will 
Durgin  knew  him.  They  lived  together  one  time. 
He,  Wollaston,  was  going  to  turn  in  now. 

Several  of  these  facts  were  not  new  to  Mr.  Tag- 
gett,  but  Mr.  Wollaston's  presentation  of  them 
threw  Mr.  Taggett  into  a  reverie. 

The  next  evening  he  got  Durgin  alone  in  a 
corner  of  the  bar-room.  With  two  or  three  pota- 
tions Durgin  became  autobiographical.  Was  he 
acquainted  with  Mr.  Shackford  outside  the  yard? 
Rather.  Dick  Shackford  !  His  (Durgin's)  mother 
had  kept  Dick  from  starving  when  he  was  a  baby, 
—  and  no  thanks  for  it.  Went  to  school  with  him, 
and  knew  all  about  his  running  off  to  sea.  Was 
near  going  with  him.  Old  man  Shackford  never 
liked  Dick, who  was  a  proud  beggar;  they  couldn't 
pull  together,  down  to  the  last,  —  both  of  a  piece. 
They  had  a  jolly  rumpus  a  little  while  before  the 
old  man  was  fixed. 

Mr.  Taggett  pricked  up  his  ears  at  this. 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  233 

A  rumpus  ?  How  did  Durgin  know  that  ?  A 
girl  told  him.  What  girl  ?  A  girl  he  was  sweet 
on.  What  was  her  name  ?  Well,  he  did  n't  mind 
telling  her  name ;  it  was  Molly  Hennessey.  She 
was  going  through  Welch's  Court  one  forenoon,  — 
may  be  it  was  three  days  before  the  strike,  —  and 
saw  Dick  Shackford  bolt  out  of  the  house,  swing- 
ing his  arms  and  swearing  to  himself  at  an  awful 
rate.  Was  Durgin  certain  that  Molly  Hennessey 
had  told  him  this  ?  Yes,  he  was  ready  to  take  his 
oath  on  it. 

Here,  at  last,  was  something  that  looked  like  a 
glimmer  of  daylight. 

It  was  possible  that  Durgin  or  the  girl  had  lied ; 
but  the  story  had  an  air  of  truth  to  it.  If  it  were 
a  fact  that  there  had  recently  been  a  quarrel  be- 
tween these  cousins,  whose  uncousinly  attitude  to- 
wards each  other  was  fast  becoming  clear  to  Mr. 
Taggett,  then  here  was  a  conceivable  key  to  an 
enigma  which  had  puzzled  him. 

The  conjecture  that  Lemuel  Shackford  had  him- 
self torn  up  the  will  —  if  it  was  a  will,  for  this  still 
remained  in  dispute  —  had  never  been  satisfactory 
to  Mr.  Taggett.  He  had  accepted  it  because  he 
was  unable  to  imagine  an  ordinary  burglar  paus- 
ing in  the  midst  of  his  work  to  destroy  a  paper  in 
which  he  could  have  no  concern.  But  Richard 


234  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

Shackford  would  have  the  liveliest  possible  interest 
in  the  destruction  of  a  document  that  placed  a  vast 
estate  beyond  his  reach.  Here  was  a  motive  on  a 
level  with  the  crime.  That  money  had  been  taken, 
and  that  the  fragments  of  the  will  had  been  care- 
lessly thrown  into  a  waste-paper  basket,  just  as  if 
the  old  man  himself  had  thrown  them  there,  was  a 
stroke  of  art  which  Mr.  Taggett  admired  more  and 
more  as  he  reflected  upon  it. 

He  did  not,  however,  allow  himself  to  lay  too 
much  stress  on  these  points ;  for  the  paper  might 
turn  out  to  be  merely  an  expired  lease,  and  the  girl 
might  have  been  quizzing  Durgin.  Mr.  Taggett 
would  have  given  one  of  his  eye-teeth  just  then  for 
ten  minutes  with  Mary  Hennessey.  But  an  inter- 
view with  her  at  this  stage  was  neither  prudent  nor 
easily  compassed. 

"  If  I  have  not  struck  a  trail,"  writes  Mr.  Tag- 
gett, "  I  have  come  upon  what  strongly  resembles 
one ;  the  least  I  can  do  is  to  follow  it.  My  first 
move  must  be  to  inspect  that  private  workshop  in 
the  rear  of  Mr.  Slocum's  house.  How  shall  I  ac- 
complish it?  I  cannot  apply  to  him  for  permission, 
for  that  would  provoke  questions  which  I  am  not 
ready  to  answer.  Moreover,  I  have  yet  to  assure 
myself  that  Mr.  Slocum  is  not  implicated.  There 
seems  to  have  been  also  a  hostile  feeling  existing 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  235 

between  him  and  the  deceased.  Why  did  n't  some 
one  tell  me  these  things  at  the  start!  If  young 
Shackford  is  the  person,  there  is  a  tangled  story 
to  be  unraveled.  Mem  :  Young  Sbackford  is  Miss 
Slocum's  lover." 

Mr.  Slocum  read  this  passage  twice  without  draw- 
ing breath,  and  then  laid  down  the  book  an  instant 
to  wipe  the  sudden  perspiration  from  his  forehead. 

In  the  note  which  followed,  Mr.  Taggett  de- 
scribed the  difficulty  he  met  with  in  procuring  a 
key  to  fit  the  wall-door  at  the  rear  of  the  marble 
yard,  and  gave  an  account  of  his  failure  to  effect 
an  entrance  into  the  studio.  He  had  hoped  to  find 
a  window  unfastened ;  but  the  window,  as  well  as 
the  door  opening  upon  the  veranda,  was  locked, 
and  in  the  midst  of  his  operations,  which  were  con- 
ducted at  noon-time,  the  approach  of  a  servant  had 
obliged  him  to  retreat. 

Forced  to  lay  aside,  at  least  temporarily,  his  de- 
signs on  the  workshop,  he  turned  his  attention  to 
Richard's  lodgings  in  Lime  Street.  Here  Mr.  Tag- 
gett was  more  successful.  On  the  pretext  that  he 
had  been  sent  for  certain  drawings  which  were  to 
be  found  on  the  table  or  in  a  writing-desk,  he  was 
permitted  by  Mrs.  Spooner  to  ascend  to  the  bed- 
room, where  she  obligingly  insisted  on  helping  him 
search  for  the  apocryphal  plans,  and  seriously  inter- 


236  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

fered  with  his  purpose,  which  was  to  find  the  key 
of  the  studio.  While  Mr.  Taggett  was  turning 
over  the  pages  of  a  large  dictionary,  in  order  to 
gain  time,  and  was  wondering  how  he  could  rid 
himself  of  the  old  lady's  importunities,  he  came 
upon  a  half-folded  note-sheet,  at  the  bottom  of 
which  his  eye  caught  the  name  of  Lemuel  Shack- 
ford.  It  was  in  the  handwriting  of  the  dead  man. 
Mr.  Taggett  was  very  familiar  with  that  handwrit- 
ing. He  secured  the  paper  at  a  venture,  and  put  it 
in  his  pocket  without  examination. 

A  few  minutes  later,  it  being  impossible  to  pro- 
long the  pretended  quest  for  the  drawings,  Mr. 
Taggett  was  obliged  to  follow  Mrs.  Spooner  from 
the  apartment.  As  he  did  so  he  noticed  a  bright 
object  lying  on  the  corner  of  the  mantel-shelf,  — a 
small  nickel-plated  key.  In  order  to  take  it  he  had 
only  to  reach  out  his  hand  in  passing.  It  was,  as 
Mr.  Taggett  had  instantly  surmised,  the  key  of 
Richard's  workshop. 

If  it  had  been  gold,  instead  of  brass  or  iron,  that 
bit  of  metal  would  have  taken  no  additional  value 
in  Mr.  Taggett's  eyes.  On  leaving  Mrs.  Spooner's 
lie  held  it  tightly  clasped  in  his  fingers  until  he 
reached  an  unfrequented  street,  where  he  halted  a 
moment  in  the  shadow  of  a  building  to  inspect  the 
paper,  which  he  had  half  forgotten  in  his  satisfac« 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  237 

tion  at  having  obtained  the  key.  A  stifled  cry 
rose  to  Mr.  Taggett's  lips  as  he  glanced  over  the 
crumpled  note-sheet. 

It  contained  three  lines,  hastily  scrawled  in  lead- 
pencil,  requesting  Richard  Shackford  to  call  at  the 
house  in  Welch's  Court  at  eight  o'clock  on  a  cer- 
tain Tuesday  night.  The  note  had  been  written,  as 
the  date  showed,  on  the  day  preceding  the  Tuesday 
night  in  question  — the  night  of  the  murder ! 

For  a  second  or  two  Mr.  Taggett  stood  paralyzed. 
Ten  minutes  afterwards  a  message  in  cipher  was 
pulsing  along  the  wires  to  New  York,  and  before 
the  sun  went  down  that  evening  Richard  Shackford 
was  under  the  surveillance  of  the  police. 

The  doubtful,  unknown  ground  upon  which  Mr. 
Taggett  had  been  floundering  was  now  firm  under 
his  feet,  —  unexpected  ground,  but  solid.  Meeting 
Mary  Hennessey  in  the  street,  on  his  way  to  the 
marble  yard,  Mr.  Taggett  no  longer  hesitated  to 
accost  her,  and  question  her  as  to  the  story  she 
had  told  William  Durgin.  The  girl's  story  was 
undoubtedly  true,  and  as  a  piece  of  circumstantial 
evidence  was  only  less  important  than  the  elder 
Shackford's  note.  The  two  cousins  had  been  for 
years  on  the  worst  of  terms.  At  every  step  Mr. 
Taggett  had  found  corroboration  of  Wollaston's 
statement  to  that  ettecc. 


238  THE   STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY, 

"Where  were  Coroner  Whidden's  eyes  and  ears," 
wrote  Mr.  Taggett,  —  the  words  were  dashed  down 
impatiently  on  the  page,  as  if  he  had  sworn  a  little 
internally  while  writing  them,  —  "when  he  con- 
ducted that  inquest !  In  all  my  experience  there 
was  never  a  thing  so  stupidly  managed." 

A  thorough  and  immediate  examination  of  Rich- 
ard Shackford's  private  workshop  was  now  so  im- 
perative that  Mr.  Taggett  resolved  to  make  it  even 
if  he  had  to  do  so  under  the  authority  of  a  search- 
warrant.  But  he  desired  as  yet  to  avoid  publicity. 

A  secret  visit  to  the  studio  seemed  equally  diffi- 
cult by  day  and  night.  In  the  former  case  he  was 
nearly  certain  to  be  deranged  by  the  servants,  and 
in  the  latter  a  light  in  the  unoccupied  room  would 
alarm  any  one  of  the  household  who  might  chance 
to  awaken.  From  the  watchman  no  danger  was  to 
be  apprehended,  as  the  windows  of  the  extension 
were  not  visible  from  the  street. 

Mr.  Taggett  finally  decided  on  the  night  as  the 
more  propitious  time  for  his  attempt,  —  a  decision 
which  his  success  justified.  A  brilliant  moon  fa- 
vored the  in-door  part  of  the  enterprise,  though  it 
exposed  him  to  observation  in  his  approach  from 
the  marble  yard  to  the  veranda. 

With  the  dense  moonlight  streaming  outside 
against  the  window-shades,  he  could  safely  have 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  239 

used  a  candle  in  the  studio  instead  of  the  screened 
lantern  which  he  had  provided.  Mr.  Taggett 
passed  three  hours  in  the  workshop,  —  the  last 
hour  in  waiting  for  the  moon  to  go  down.  Then 
he  stole  through  the  marble  yard  into  the  silent 
street,  and  hurried  home,  carrying  two  small  arti- 
cles concealed  under  his  blouse.  The  first  was  a 
chisel  with  a  triangular  piece  broken  out  of  the 
centre  of  the  bevel,  and  the  other  was  a  box  of 
safety-matches.  The  peculiarity  of  this  box  of 
matches  was  —  that  just  one  match  had  been  used 
from  it. 

Mr.  Taggett's  work  was  done. 

The  last  seven  pages  of  the  diary  were  devoted 
to  a  review  of  the  case,  every  detail  of  which  was 
held  up  in  various  lights,  and  examined  with  the 
conscientious  pains  of  a  lapidary  deciding  on  the 
value  of  a  rare  stone.  The  concluding  entries  ran 
as  follows :  — 

"  Tuesday  Night.  Here  the  case  passes  into 
other  hands.  I  have  been  fortunate  rather  than 
skillful  in  unmasking  the  chief  actor  in  one  of  the 
most  singular  crimes  that  ever  came  under  my  inves- 
tigation. By  destroying  three  objects,  very  easily 
destroyed,  Richard  Shackford  would  have  put  him- 
self beyond  the  dream  of  suspicion.  He  neglected  to 
remove  these  dumb  witnesses,  and  now  the  dumb 


240  THE  STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

witnesses  speak  !  If  it  could  be  shown  that  he  was 
a  hundred  miles  from  Stillwater  at  the  time  of  the 
murder,  instead  of  in  the  village,  as  he  was,  he 
must  still  be  held,  in  the  face  of  the  proofs  against 
him,  accessory  to  the  deed.  These  proofs,  roughly 
summarized,  are  :  — 

"  First.  The  fact  that  he  had  had  an  alterca- 
tion with  his  cousin  a  short  time  previous  to  the 
date  of  the  murder, — a  murder  which  may  be  re- 
garded not  as  the  result  of  a  chance  disagreement, 
but  of  long  years  of  bitter  enmity  between  the  two 
men. 

"Secondly.  The  fact  that  Richard  Shackford 
had  had  an  appointment  with  his  cousin  on  the 
night  the  crime  was  committed,  and  had  concealed 
that  fact  from  the  authorities  at  the  time  of  the 
coroner's  inquest. 

"  Thirdly.  That  the  broken  chisel  found  in  the 
private  workshop  of  the  accused  explains  the  pe- 
culiar shape  of  the  wound  which  caused  Lemuel 
Shackford's  death,  and  corresponds  in  every  par- 
ticular with  the  plaster  impression  taken  of  that 
wound. 

"Fourthly.  That  the  partially  consumed  match 
found  on  the  scullery  floor  when  the  body  was  dis- 
covered (a  style  of  match  not  used  in  the  house  in 
Welch's  Court)  completes  the  complement  of  a  box 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  241 

of  safety-matches  belonging  to  Richard  Shackford, 
and  hidden  in  a  closet  in  his  workshop. 

"  Whether  Shackford  had  an  accomplice  or  not 
is  yet  to  be  ascertained.  There  is  nothing  what- 
ever to  implicate  Mr.  Rowland  Slocum.  I  make 
the  statement  because  his  intimate  association  with 
one  party  and  his  deep  dislike  of  the  other  invited 
inquiry,  and  at  first  raised  an  unjust  suspicion  in 
my  mind." 

The  little  red  book  slipped  from  Mr.  Slocum's 
grasp  and  fell  at  his  feet.  As  he  rose  from  the 
chair,  the  reflection  which  he  caught  of  himself  in 
the  dressing-table  mirror  was  that  of  a  wrinkled, 
white  old  man. 

Mr.  Slocum  did  not  believe,  and  no  human  evi- 
dence could  have  convinced  him,  that  Richard  had 
deliberately  killed  Lemuel  Shackford ;  but  as  Mr. 
Slocum  reached  the  final  pages  of  the  diary,  a  hor- 
rible probability  insinuated  itself  into  his  mind. 
Could  Richard  have  done  it  accidentally  ?  Could 
he  —  in  an  instant  of  passion,  stung  to  sudden  mad- 
ness by  that  venomous  old  man  —  have  struck  him 
involuntarily,  and  killed  him  ?  A  certain  speech 
which  Richard  had  made  in  Mr.  Slocum's  presence 
not  long  before  came  back  to  him  now  with  fearful 
emphasis  :  — 

"  Three  or  four  times  in  my  life  I  have  been  car- 

16 


242  THE   STILLWATEE   TRAGEDY. 

ried  away  by  a  devil  of  a  temper  which  I  could  n't 
control, it  seized  me  so  unawares" 

"  It  seized  me  so  unawares  !  "  repeated  Mr.  Slo- 
cum,  half  aloud ;  and  then  with  a  swift,  unconscious 
gesture,  he  pressed  his  hands  over  his  ears,  as  if  to 
Bhut  out  the  words. 


XXI. 

MARGARET  must  be  told.  It  would  be  like 
stabbing  her  to  tell  her  all  this.  Mr.  Slocura  had 
lain  awake  long  after  midnight,  appalled  by  the 
calamity  that  was  about  to  engulf  them.  At  mo- 
ments, as  his  thought  reverted  to  Margaret's  illness 
early  in  the  spring,  he  felt  that  perhaps  it  would 
have  been  a  mercy  if  she  had  died  then.  He  had 
left  the  candles  burning  ;  it  was  not  until  the  wicks 
sunk  down  in  the  sockets  and  went  softly  out  that 
slumber  fell  upon  him. 

He  was  now  sitting  at  the  breakfast-table,  ab- 
sently crumbling  bits  of  bread  beside  his  plate  and 
leaving  his  coffee  untouched.  Margaret  glanced  at 
him  wistfully  from  time  to  time,  and  detected  the 
restless  night  in  the  deepened  lines  of  his  face. 

The  house  had  not  been  the  same  since  Lemuel 
Shackford's  death ;  he  had  never  crossed  its  thresh- 
old ;  Margaret  had  scarcely  known  him  by  sight, 
and  Mr.  Slocum  had  not  spoken  to  him  for  years  ; 
but  Richard's  connection  with  the  unfortunate  old 
man  had  brought  the  tragic  event  very  close  to 


244  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

Margaret  and  her  father.  Mr.  Slocum  was  a  per- 
son easily  depressed,  but  his  depression  this  morn- 
ing was  so  greatly  in  excess  of  the  presumable 
cause  that  Margaret  began  to  be  troubled. 

"  Papa,  has  anything  happened  ?  " 

"  No,  nothing  new  has  happened ;  but  I  am 
dreadfully  disturbed  by  some  things  which  Mr. 
Taggett  has  been  doing  here  in  the  village." 

"  I  thought  Mr.  Taggett  had  gone." 

"  He  did  go  ;  but  he  came  back  very  quietly, 
without  anybody's  knowledge.  I  knew  it,  of  course  ; 
but  no  one  else,  to  speak  of." 

"  What  has  he  done  to  disturb  you  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  be  a  brave  girl,  Margaret,  — 
will  you  promise  that  ?  " 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Margaret,  with  an  anxious 
look.  "  You  frighten  me  with  your  mysterious- 
ness." 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  be  mysterious,  but  I  don't 
quite  know  how  to  tell  you  about  Mr.  Taggett. 
He  has  been  working  underground  in  this  matter 
of  poor  Shackford's  death,  —  boring  in  the  dark 
like  a  mole,  —  and  thinks  he  has  discovered  some 
strange  things." 

"  Do  you  mean  he  thinks  he  has  found  out  who 
killed  Mr.  Shackf  ord  ?  " 

"He  believes  he  has  fallen  upon  clews  which 


THE   STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY.  245 

will  lead  to  that.     The  strange  things   I  alluded 
to  are  things  which  Richard  will  have  to  explain." 
"  Richard  ?     What  has  he  to  do  with  it  ?  " 
"  Not  much,  I  hope  ;  but  there  are  several  mat- 
ters which  he  will  be  obliged  to  clear  up  in  order 
to  save  himself  from  very  great  annoyance.     Mr. 
Taggett  seems  to  think  that  —  that  "  — 

"  Good  Heaven,  papa  !     What  does  he  think  ?  " 
"  Margaret,  he  thinks  that  Richard  knew  some- 
thing about  the  murder,  and  has  not  told  it." 
*'  What  could  he  know  ?     Is  that  all  ?  " 
"  No,  that  is  not  all.      I  am   keeping  the  full 
truth  from  you,  and  it  is  useless  to  do  so.     You 
must  face  it  like  a  brave  girl.     Mr.  Taggett  sus- 
pects Richard  of  being  concerned,  directly  or  in- 
directly, with  the  crime." 

The  color  went  from  Margaret's  cheek  for  an 
instant.  The  statement  was  too  horrible  and  sud- 
den not  to  startle  her,  but  it  was  also  too  absurd 
to  have  more  than  an  instant's  effect.  Her  quick 
recovery  of  herself  reassured  Mr.  Slocum.  Would 
she  meet  Mr.  Taggett's  specific  charges  with  the 
like  fortitude  ?  Mr.  Slocum  himself  had  been  pros- 
trated by  them  ;  he  prayed  to  Heaven  that  Mar- 
garet might  have  more  strength  than  he,  as  indeed 
she  had. 

"  The  man  has  got  together  a  lot  of  circumstan- 


246  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

tial  evidence,"  continued  Mr.  Slocum  cautiously; 
"  some  of  it  amounts  to  nothing,  being  mere  con- 
jecture ;  but  some  of  it  will  look  badly  for  Richard, 
to  outsiders." 

"  Of  course  it  is  all  a  mistake,"  said  Margaret, 
in  nearly  her  natural  voice.  "  It  ought  to  be  easy 
to  convince  Mr.  Taggett  of  that." 

"I  have  not  been  able  to  convince  him." 

"  But  you  will.  What  has  possessed  him  to  fall 
into  such  a  ridiculous  error  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Taggett  has  written  out  everything  at 
length  in  this  memorandum-book,  and  you  must 
read  it  for  yourself.  There  are  expressions  and 
statements  in  these  pages,  Margaret,  that  will  nec- 
essarily shock  you  very  much  ;  but  you  should  re- 
member, as  I  tried  to  while  reading  them,  that  Mr. 
Taggett  has  a  heart  of  steel ;  without  it  he  would 
be  unable  to  do  his  distressing  work.  The  cold 
impartiality  with  which  he  sifts  and  heaps  up  cir- 
cumstances involving  the  doom  of  a  fellow-creature 
appears  almost,  inhuman ;  but  it  is  his  business. 
No,  don't  look  at  it  here !  "  said  Mr.  Slocum,  re- 
coiling ;  he  had  given  the  book  to  Margaret.  "  Take 
it  into  the  other  room,  and  read  it  carefully  by 
yourself.  When  you  have  finished,  come  back  and 
tell  me  what  you  think." 

"  But,  papa,  surely  you  "  — 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  247 

"  I  don't  believe  anything,  Margaret !  I  don't 
know  the  true  from  the  false  any  more  !  I  want 
you  to  help  me  out  of  my  confusion,  and  you  can- 
not do  it  until  you  have  read  that  book." 

Margaret  made  no  response,  but  passed  into  the 
parlor  and  closed  the  folding-doors  behind  her. 

After  an  absence  of  half  an  hour  she  reentered 
the  breakfast  room,  and  laid  Mr.  Taggett's  diary 
on  the  table  beside  her  father,  who  had  not  moved 
from  his  place  during  the  interval.  Margaret's 
manner  was  collected,  but  it  was  evident,  by  the 
dark  circles  under  her  eyes,  and  the  set,  colorless 
lips,  that  that  half  hour  had  been  a  cruel  thirty 
minutes  to  her.  In  Margaret's  self-possession  Mr. 
Slocum  recognized,  not  for  the  first  time,  the  crop- 
ping out  of  an  ancestral  trait  which  had  somehow 
managed  to  avoid  him  in  its  wayward  descent. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  questioned,  looking  earnestly  at 
Margaret,  and  catching  a  kind  of  comfort  from  her 
confident  bearing. 

"It  is  Mr.  Taggett's  trade  to  find  somebody 
guilty,"  said  Margaret,  "  and  he  has  been  very 
ingenious  and  very  merciless.  He  was  plainly  at 
his  wits'  ends  to  sustain  his  reputation,  and  would 
not  have  hesitated  to  sacrifice  any  one  rather  than 
wholly  fail." 

"  But  you  have  been  crying,  Margaret." 


248  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  How  could  I  see  Richard  dragged  down  in  the 
dust  in  this  fashion,  and  not  be  mortified  and  in- 
dignant ?  " 

"  You  don't  believe  anything  at  all  of  this  ?  " 

"  Do  you  ?  "  asked  Margaret,  looking  through 
and  through  him. 

"  I  confess  I  am  troubled." 

"  If  you  doubt  Richard  for  a  second,"  said  Mar- 
garet, with  a  slight  quiver  of  her  lip,  "  that  will 
be  the  bitterest  part  of  it  to  me." 

"  I  don't  give  any  more  credit  to  Mr.  Taggett's 
general  charges  than  you  do,  Margaret ;  but  I  un- 
derstand their  gravity  better.  A  perfectly  guiltless 
man,  one  able  with  a  single  word  to  establish  his 
innocence,  is  necessarily  crushed  at  first  by  an  accu- 
sation of  this  kind.  Now,  can  Richard  set  these 
matters  right  with  a  single  word  ?  I  am  afraid  he 
has  a  world  of  difficulty  before  him." 

"When  he  returns  he  will  explain  everything. 
How  can  you  question  it  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  ;  but  there  are  two  things  in 
Mr.  Taggett's  story  which  stagger  me.  The  mo- 
tive for  the  destruction  of  Shackford's  papers,  — 
that 's  not  plain  ;  the  box  of  matches  is  a  puerility 
unworthy  of  a  clever  man  like  Mr.  Taggett,  and  as 
to  the  chisel  he  found,  why,  there  are  a  hundred 
broken  chisels  in  the  village,  and  probably  a  score 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  249 

of  them  broken  in  precisely  the  same  manner  ;  but, 
Margaret,  did  Richard  ever  breathe  a  word  to  you 
of  that  quarrel  with  his  cousin?" 

"  No." 

"  He  never  mentioned  it  to  me  either.  As  mat- 
ters stood  between  you  and  him,  nothing  was  more 
natural  than  that  he  should  have  spoken  of  it  to 
you,  —  so  natural  that  his  silence  is  positively 
strange." 

"  He  may  have  considered  it  too  unimportant. 
Mr.  Shackford  always  abused  Richard  ;  it  was  noth- 
ing new.  Then,  again,  Richard  is  very  proud,  and 
perhaps  he  did  not  care  to  come  to  us  just  at  that 
time  with  family  grievances.  Besides,  how  do  we 
know  they  quarreled  ?  The  village  is  full  of  gos- 
sip." 

"  I  am  certain  there  was  a  quarrel ;  it  was  only 
necessary  for  those  two  to  meet  to  insure  that.  I 
distinctly  remember  the  forenoon  when  Richard 
went  to  Welch's  Court ;  it  was  the  day  he  dis- 
charged Torrini." 

A  little  cloud  passed  over  Margaret's  counte- 
nance. 

"  They  undoubtedly  had  angry  words  together," 
continued  Mr.  Slocum,  "  and  we  are  forced  to  ac- 
cept the  Hennessey  girl's  statement.  The  reason 
you  suggest  for  Richard's  not  saying  anything  on 


250  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

the  subject  may  suffice  for  us,  but  it  will  scarcely 
satisfy  disinterested  persons,  and  does  n't  at  all 
cover  another  circumstance  which  must  be  taken  in 
the  same  connection." 

"  What  circumstance  ?  " 

"  His  silence  in  regard  to  Lemuel  Shackford'a 
note,  —  a  note  written  the  day  before  the  murder, 
and  making  an  appointment  for  the  very  night  of 
it." 

The  girl  looked  steadily  at  her  father. 

"  Margaret !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Slocum,  his  face  il- 
luminated with  a  flickering  hope  as  he  met  her  un- 
troubled gaze,  "  did  Richard  tell  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Margaret. 

"  Then  he  told  no  one,"  said  Mr.  Slocum,  with 
the  light  fading  out  of  his  features  again.  "  It  was 
madness  in  him  to  conceal  the  fact.  He  should  not 
have  lost  a  moment,  after  the  death  of  his  cousin, 
in  making  that  letter  public.  It  ought  instantly  to 
have  been  placed  in  Coroner  Whidden's  hands. 
Richard's  action  is  inconceivable,  unless  —  un- 
less "- 

"  Do  not  say  it !  "  cried  Margaret.  "  I  should 
never  forgive  you  !  " 

In  recapitulating  the  points  of  Mr.  Taggett's  ac- 
cusation, Mr.  Slocum  had  treated  most  of  them  as 
trivial ;  but  he  had  not  been  sincere.  He  knew 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  251 

that  that  broken  chisel  had  no  duplicate  in  Still- 
water,  and  that  the  finding  of  it  in  Richard's  closet 
tvas  a  black  fact.  Mr.  Slocura  had  also  glossed  over 
the  quarrel ;  but  that  letter  ! — the  likelihood  that 
Richard  kept  the  appointment,  and  his  absolute  si- 
lence concerning  it,  — here  was  a  grim  thing  which 
no  sophistry  could  dispose  of.  It  would  be  wrong- 
ing Margaret  to  deceive  her  as  to  the  vital  serious- 
ness of  Richard's  position. 

"  Why,  why  did  he  hide  it !  "  Mr.  Slocum  per- 
sisted. 

"  I  do  not  see  that  he  really  hid  it,  papa.  He 
shut  the  note  in  a  book  lying  openly  on  the  table, 
—  a  dictionary,  to  which  any  one  in  the  household 
was  likely  to  go.  You  think  Mr.  Taggett  a  person 
of  great  acuteness." 

"  He  is  a  very  intelligent  person,  Margaret." 

"  He  appears  to  me  very  short-sighted.  If  Rich- 
ard were  the  dreadful  man  Mr.  Taggett  supposes, 
that  paper  would  have  been  burnt,  and  not  left 
for  the  first  comer  to  pick  up.  I  scorn  myself 
for  stooping  to  the  suggestion  !  " 

"  There  is  something  in  the  idea,"  said  Mr.  Slo- 
cum slowly.  "  But  why  did  Richard  never  mention 
the  note,  —  to  you,  or  to  me,  or  to  anybody  ?  " 

"  He  had  a  sufficient  reason,  you  may  be  sure. 
Oh,  papa,  how  ready  you  are  to  believe  evil  of 
him!" 


252  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  I  am  not,  God  knows  !  " 

"  How  you  cling  to  this  story  of  the  letter  !  Sup- 
pose it  turns  out  to  be  some  old  letter,  written  two 
or  three  years  ago  ?  You  could  never  look  Rich- 
ard in  the  face  again." 

"  Unfortunately,  Shackford  dated  it.  It  is  use- 
less for  us  to  blindfold  ourselves,  Margaret.  Rich- 
ard has  managed  in  some  way  to  get  himself  into  a 
very  perilous  situation,  and  we  cannot  help  him  by 
shutting  our  eyes.  You  misconceive  me  if  you  im- 
agine  I  think  him  capable  of  coolly  plotting  his 
cousin's  death ;  but  it  is  not  outside  the  limits  of 
the  possible  that  what  has  happened  a  thousand 
times  may  have  happened  once  more.  Men  less 
impulsive  than  Richard  " 

"  I  will  not  listen  to  it !  "  interrupted  Margaret, 
drawing  herself  up.  "  When  Richard  returns  he 
will  explain  the  matter  to  you,  —  not  to  me.  If  I 
required  a  word  of  denial  from  him,  I  should  care 
very  little  whether  he  was  innocent  or  not." 

Mr.  Slocum  threw  a  terrified  glance  at  his  daugh- 
ter. Her  lofty  faith  sent  a  chill  to  his  heart.  What 
would  be  the  result  of  a  fall  from  such  a  height  ? 
He  almost  wished  Margaret  had  something  less  of 
that  ancestral  confidence  and  obstinacy  the  lack  of 
which  in  his  own  composition  he  had  so  often  de- 
plored. 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  253 

"  We  are  not  to  speak  of  this  to  Richard,"  he 
said,  after  a  protracted  pause  ;  "at  least  not  until 
Mr.  Taggett  considers  it  best.  I  have  pledged  my- 
self to  something  like  that." 

"  Has  Richard  been  informed  of  Mr.  Taggett's 
singular  proceeding  ?  "  asked  Margaret,  freezingly. 

"  Not  yet ;  nothing  is  to  be  done  until  Mr.  Tag- 
gett returns  from  New  York,  and  then  Richard 
will  at  once  have  an  opportunity  of  clearing  him- 
self." 

"  It  would  have  spared  us  all  much  pain  and 
misunderstanding  if  he  had  been  sent  for  in  the 
first  instance.  Did  he  know  that  this  person  was 
here  in  the  yard  ?  " 

"  The  plan  was  talked  over  before  Richard  left ; 
the  details  were  arranged  afterwards.  He  heartily 
approved  of  the  plan." 

A  leisurely  and  not  altogether  saint-like  smile 
crept  into  the  corners  of  Margaret's  mouth. 

"Yes,  he  approved  of  the  plan,"  repeated  Mr. 
Slocum.  "  Perhaps  he  "  —  Here  Mr.  Slocum 
checked  himself,  and  left  the  sentence  flying  at 
loose  ends.  Perhaps  Richard  had  looked  with  favor 
upon  a  method  of  inquiry  which  was  so  likely  to 
lead  to  no  result.  But  Mr.  Slocum  did  not  venture 
to  finish  the  suggestion.  He  had  never  seen  Mar- 
garet so  imperious  and  intractable  ;  it  was  impos- 


254  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

sible  to  reason  or  to  talk  frankly  with  her.  He 
remained  silent,  sitting  with  one  arm  thrown  de- 
jectedly across  the  back  of  the  chair. 

Presently  his  abject  attitude  and  expression  be- 
gan to  touch  Margaret ;  there  was  something  that 
appealed  to  her  in  the  thin  gray  hair  falling  over 
his  forehead.  Her  eyes  softened  as  they  rested 
upon  him,  and  a  pitying  little  tremor  came  to  her 
under  lip. 

"  Papa,"  she  said,  stooping  to  his  side,  with  a 
sudden  rosy  bloom  in  her  cheeks,  "  I  have  all  the 
proof  I  want  that  Richard  knew  nothing  of  this 
dreadful  business." 

"  You  have  proof  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Slocum,  start- 
ing from  his  seat. 

"  Yes.  The  morning  Richard  went  to  New 
York  "  —  Margaret  hesitated. 

"  Well !  " 

"  He  put  his  arm  around  me  and  kissed  me." 

"  Well !  " 

"  Well  ?  "  repeated  Margaret.  "  Could  Richard 
have  done  that,  —  could  he  have  so  much  as  laid 
his  hand  upon  me  —  if  —  if  "  — 

Mr.  Slocum  sunk  back  in  the  chair  with  a  kind 
of  groan. 

"  Papa,  you  do  not  know  him  !  " 

"  Oh,  Margaret,  I  am  afraid  that  that  is  not  the 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  255 

kind  of  evidence  to  clear  Richard  in  Mr.  Taggett's 
eyes." 

"  Then  Richard's  word  must  do  it,"  she  said 
haughtily.  "He  will  be  home  to-night." 

"  Yes,  he  is  to  return  to-night,"  said  Mr.  Slocum, 
looking  away  from  her. 


XXII. 

DUKING  the  rest  of  the  day  the  name  of  Richard 
Shackford  was  not  mentioned  again  by  either  Mar- 
garet or  her  father.  It  was  a  day  of  suspense  to 
both,  and  long  before  night-fall  Margaret's  impa- 
tience for  Richard  to  come  had  resolved  itself  into 
a  pain  as  keen  as  that  with  which  Mr.  Slocum  con- 
templated the  coming;  for  every  hour  augmented 
his  dread  of  the  events  that  would  necessarily  fol- 
low the  reappearance  of  young  Shackford  in  Still- 
water. 

On  reaching  his  office,  after  the  conversation 
with  Margaret,  Mr.  Slocum  found  Lawyer  Perkins 
waiting  for  him.  Lawyer  Perkins,  who  was  as  yet 
in  ignorance  of  the  late  developments,  had  brought 
information  of  his  own.  The  mutilated  document 
which  had  so  grimly  clung  to  its  secret  was  at  last 
deciphered.  It  proved  to  be  a  recently  executed 
will,  in  which  the  greater  part  of  Lemuel  Shack- 
ford's  estate,  real  and  personal,  was  left  uncondi- 
tionally to  his  cousin. 

"  That  disposes  of  one  of  Mr.  Taggett's  theo- 
ries," was  Mr.  Slocum's  unspoken  reflection.  Cer- 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  257 

tainly  Richard  had  not  destroyed  the  will ;  the  old 
man  himself  had  destroyed  it,  probably  in  some  fit 
of  pique.  Yet,  after  all,  the  vital  question  was  in 
no  way  affected  by  this  fact :  the  motive  for  the 
crime  remained,  and  the  fearful  evidence  against 
Richard  still  held. 

After  the  departure  of  Lawyer  Perkins,  who  had 
been  struck  by  the  singular  perturbation  of  his  old 
friend,  Mr.  Slocum  drew  forth  Mr.  Taggett's  jour- 
nal, and  re-read  it  from  beginning  to  end.  Mar- 
garet's unquestioning  faith  in  Richard,  her  prompt 
and  indignant  rejection  of  the  whole  story,  had 
shaken  her  father  at  moments  that  morning;  but 
now  his  paralyzing  doubts  returned.  This  second 
perusal  of  the  diary  impressed  him  even  more 
strongly  than  the  first.  Richard  had  killed  Lemuel 
Shackford,  —  in  self-defense,  may  be,  or  perhaps 
accidentally  ;  but  he  had  killed  him  !  As  Mr.  Slo- 
cum passed  from  page  to  page,  following  the  dark 
thread  of  narrative  that  darkened  at  each  remove, 
he  lapsed  into  that  illogical  frame  of  mind  when 
one  looks  half  expectantly  for  some  providential 
interposition  to  avert  the  calamity  against  which 
human  means  are  impotent.  If  Richard  were  to 
drop  dead  in  the  street !  If  he  were  to  fall  over- 
board off  Point  Judith  in  the  night !  If  only  any- 
thing would  happen  to  prevent  his  coming  back ! 
17 


258  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

Thus  the  ultimate  disgrace  might  be  spared  them. 
But  the  ill  thing  is  the  sure  thing ;  the  letter  with 
the  black  seal  never  miscarries,  and  Richard  was 
bound  to  come  !  "  There  is  no  escape  for  him  or 
for  us,"  murmured  Mr.  Slocum,  closing  his  finger 
in  the  book. 

It  was  in  a  different  mood  that  Margaret  said 
to  herself,  "  It  is  nearly  four  o'clock  ;  he  will  be 
here  at  eight !  "  As  she  stood  at  the  parlor  win- 
dow and  watched  the  waning  afternoon  light  mak- 
ing its  farewells  to  the  flower-beds  in  the  little 
square  front-gardens  of  the  houses  opposite,  Mar- 
garet's heart  was  filled  with  the  tenderness  of  the 
greeting  she  intended  to  give  Richard.  She  had 
never  been  cold  or  shy  in  her  demeanor  with  him, 
nor  had  she  ever  been  quite  demonstrative  ;  but 
now  she  meant  to  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  in 
a  wifely  fashion,  and  recompense  him  so  far  as  she 
could  for  all  the  injustice  he  was  to  suffer.  When 
he  came  to  learn  of  the  hateful  slander  that  had 
lifted  its  head  during  his  absence,  he  should  already 
be  in  possession  of  the  assurance  of  her  faith. 

In  the  mean  while  the  hands  in  Slocum's  Yard 
were  much  exercised  over  the  unaccountable  disap- 
pearance of  Blake.  Stevens  reported  the  matter  to 
Mr.  Slocum. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Slocum,  who  had  not  pro- 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  259 

vided  himself  with  an  explanation,  and  was  puzzled 
to  improvise  one.  "  I  discharged  him, —  that  is  to 
say,  I  let  him  go.  I  forgot  to  mention  it.  He 
did  n't  take  to  the  trade." 

"  But  he  showed  a  good  fist  for  a  beginner,"  said 
Stevens.  "  He  was  head  and  shoulders  the  best  of 
the  new  lot.  Shall  I  put  Stebbins  in  his  place?  " 

"  You  need  n't  do  anything  until  Mr.  Shackford 
gets  back." 

"  When  will  that  be,  sir  ?  " 

"  To-night,  probably." 

The  unceremonious  departure  of  Blake  formed 
the  theme  of  endless  speculation  at  the  tavern  that 
evening,  and  for  the  moment  obscured  the  general 
interest  in  old  Shackford's  murder. 

**  Never  to  let  on  he  was  goin' !  "  said  one. 

"  Did  n't  say  good-by  to  nobody,"  remarked  a 
second. 

"It  was  devilish  uncivil,"  added  a  third. 

"  It  is  kind  of  mysterious,"  said  Mr.  Peters. 

"  Some  girl,"  suggested  Mr.  Willson,  with  an  air 
of  tender  sentiment,  which  he  attempted  further  to 
emphasize  by  a  capacious  wink. 

"  No,"  observed  Dexter.  "  When  a  man  van- 
ishes in  that  sudden  way  his  body  is  generally  found 
in  a  clump  of  blackberry  bushes,  months  afterwards, 
or  left  somewhere  on  the  flats  by  an  ebb  tide." 


260  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  Two  murders  in  Stillwater  in  one  month  would 
be  rather  crowding  it,  would  n't  it  ?  "  inquired  Pig- 
gott. 

",  Bosh  !  "  said  Durgin.  "  There  was  always 
something  shady  about  Blake.  We  didn't  know 
where  he  hailed  from,  and  we  don't  know  where 
he's  gone  to.  He'll  take  care  of  himself;  that 
kind  of  fellow  never  lets  anybody  play  any  points 
on  him."  With  this  Durgin  threw  away  the  stump 
of  his  cigar,  and  lounged  out  at  the  street  door. 

"  I  could  n't  get  anything  out  of  the  proprietor," 
said  Stevens  ;  "  but  he  never  talks.  Maybe  Shack- 
ford  when  he  "  —  Stevens  stopped  short  to  listen 
to  a  low,  rumbling  sound  like  distant  thunder,  fol- 
lowed almost  instantly  by  two  quick  faint  whistles. 
"  He  's  aboard  the  train  to-night." 

Mr.  Peters  quietly  rose  from  his  seat  and  left  the 
bar-room. 

The  evening  express,  due  at  eight,  was  only  a 
few  seconds  behind  time.  As  the  screech  of  the 
approaching  engine  rung  out  from  the  dark  wood- 
land, Margaret  and  her  father  exchanged  rapid 
glances.  It  would  take  Richard  ten  minutes  to 
walk  from  the  railway  station  to  the  house,  —  for 
of  course  he  would  come  there  directly  after  send- 
ing his  valise  to  Lime  Street. 

The  ten  minutes  went  by,  and  then  twenty.  Mar- 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  261 

garet  bent  steadily  over  her  work,  listening  with 
covert  intentness  for  the  click  of  the  street  gate. 
Likely  enough  Richard  had  been  unable  to  find  any 
one  to  take  charge  of  his  hand-luggage.  Presently 
Mr.  Slocum  could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  look  at 
his  watch.  It  was  half  past  eight.  He  nervously 
unfolded  The  Stillwater  Gazette,  and  sat  with  his 
eyes  fastened  on  the  paper. 

After  a  seemingly  interminable  period  the  heavy 
bell  of  the  South  Church  sounded  nine,  and  then 
tolled  for  a  few  minutes,  as  the  dismal  custom  is  in 
New  England  country  towns. 

A  long  silence  followed,  unrelieved  by  any  word 
between  father  and  daughter,  —  a  silence  so  pro- 
found that  the  heart  of  the  old-fashioned  time-piece, 
throbbing  monotonously  in  its  dusky  case  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  made  itself  audible  through  the 
room.  Mr.  Slocum's  gaze  continued  fixed  on  the 
newspaper  which  he  was  not  reading.  Margaret's 
hands  lay  crossed  over  the  work  on  her  lap. 

Ten  o'clock. 

"  What  can  have  kept  him  ?  "  murmured  Mar- 
garet. 

"  There  was  only  that  way  out  of  it,"  reflected 
Mr.  Slocum,  pursuing  his  own  line  of  thought. 

Margaret's  cheeks  were  flushed  and  hot,  and  her 
eyes  dulled  with  disappointment,  as  she  rose  from 


262  THE   STILL WATEE   TRAGEDY. 

the  low  rocking-chair  and  crossed  over  to  kiss  her 
father  good-night.  Mr.  Slocura  drew  the  girl  gently 
towards  him,  and  held  her  for  a  moment  in  silence. 
But  Margaret,  detecting  the  subtile  commiseration 
in  his  manner,  resented  it,  and  released  herself 
coldly. 

"  He  has  been  detained,  papa." 

"  Yes,  something  must  have  detained  him  I  " 


XXIII. 

WHEN  the  down  express  arrived  at  Stillwater, 
that  night,  two  passengers  stepped  from  the  rear 
car  to  the  platform:  one  was  Richard  Shackford, 
and  the  other  a  commercial  traveler,  whose  ac- 
quaintance Richard  had  made  the  previous  even- 
ing on  the  Fall  River  boat. 

There  were  no  hacks  in  waiting  at  the  station, 
and  Ricbard  found  his  politeness  put  to  a  severe 
test  when  he  saw  himself  obliged  to  pilot  his  com- 
panion part  of  the  way  to  the  hotel,  which  lay  —  it 
seemed  almost  maliciously  —  in  a  section  of  the 
town  remote  from  the  Slocums'.  Curbing  his  im- 
patience, Richard  led  the  stranger  through  several 
crooked,  unlighted  streets,  and  finally  left  him  at 
the  corner  of  the  main  thoroughfare,  within  pistol- 
shot  of  the  red  glass  lantern  which  hung  over  the 
door  of  the  tavern.  This  cost  Richard  ten  good 
minutes.  As  he  hurriedly  turned  into  a  cross-street 
on  the  left,  he  fancied  that  he  heard  his  name 
called  several  times  from  somewhere  in  the  dark- 
ness. A  man  came  running  towards  him.  It  was 
Mr.  Peters. 


264  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  Can  I  say  a  word  to  you,  Mr.  Shackford  ?  " 

"  If  it  is  n't  a  long  one.     I  am  rather  pressed." 

"  It  is  about  Torrini,  sir." 

"  What  of  him  ?  " 

"  He  's  mighty  bad,  sir." 

"  Oh,  I  can't  stop  to  hear  that,"  and  Richard 
quickened  his  pace. 

"  The  doctor  took  off  his  hand  last  Wednesday," 
said  Peters,  keeping  alongside,  "  and  he  's  been 
getting  worse  and  worse." 

Richard  halted.     "  Took  off  his  hand  ?  " 

"Didn't  you  know  he  was  caught  in  the  roll- 
ing-machine at  Dana's?  Well,  it  was  after  you 
went  away." 

"  This  is  the  first  I  Ve  heard  of  it." 

"It  was  hard  lines  for  him,  sir,  with  the  woman 
and  the  two  children,  and  nothing  to  eat  in  the 
house.  The  boys  in  the  yard  have  done  what  they 
could,  but  with  the  things  from  the  drug-store,  and 
so  on,  we  could  n't  hold  up  our  end.  Mr.  Dana 
paid  the  doctor's  bill,  but  if  it  had  n't  been  for 
Miss  Slocum  I  don't  know  what  would  have  hap- 
pened. I  thought  may  be  if  I  spoke  to  you,  and 
told  you  how  it  was  "  — 

"  Did  Torrini  send  you  ?" 

"  Lord,  no  !  He  's  too  proud  to  send  to  anybody. 
He  's  been  so  proud  since  they  took  off  his  hand 


THE   S1ILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  265 

that  there  has  been  no  doing  anything  with  him. 
If  they  was  to  take  off  his  leg,  he  would  turn  into 
one  mass  of  pride.  No,  Mr.  Shackford,  I  came  of 
myself." 

"  Where  does  Torrini  live,  now  ?  " 

"  In  Mitchell's  Alley." 

"  I  will  go  along  with  you,"  said  Richard,  with 
a  dogged  air.  It  seemed  as  if  the  fates  were  de- 
termined to  keep  him  from  seeing  Margaret  that 
night.  Peters  reached  out  a  hand  to  take  Richard's 
leather  bag.  "  No,  thank  you,  I  can  carry  it  very 
well."  In  a  small  morocco  case  in  one  of  the 
pockets  was  a  heavy  plain  gold  ring  for  Margaret, 
and  not  for  anything  in  the  world  would  Richard 
have  allowed  any  one  else  to  carry  the  bag. 

After  a  brisk  five  minutes'  walk  the  two 
emerged  upon  a  broad  street  crossing  their  path  at 
right  angles.  All  the  shops  were  closed  except 
Stubbs  the  provision  dealer's  and  Dundon's  drug- 
store. In  the  window  of  the  apothecary  a  great 
purple  jar,  with  a  spray  of  gas  jets  behind  it,  was 
flaring  on  the  darkness  like  a  Bengal  light.  Rich- 
ard stopped  at  the  provision  store  and  made  some 
purchases ;  a  little  further  on  he  halted  at  a  fruit 
stand,  kept  by  an  old  crone,  who  had  supplemented 
the  feeble  flicker  of  the  corner  street  lamp  with  a 
pitch-pine  torch,  which  cast  a  yellow  bloom  over 


266  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

her  apples  and  turned  them  all  into  oranges.  She 
had  real  oranges,  however,  and  Richard  selected 
half  a  dozen,  with  a  confused  idea  of  providing  the 
little  Italians  with  some  national  fruit,  though  both 
children  had  been  born  in  Stillwater. 

Then  the  pair  resumed  their  way,  Peters  acting 
as  pioneer.  They  soon  passed  beyond  the  region 
of  sidewalks  and  curbstones,  and  began  picking 
their  steps  through  a  narrow,  humid  lane,  where 
the  water  lay  in  slimy  pools,  and  the  tenement 
houses  on  each  side  blotted  out  the  faint  starlight. 
The  night  was  sultry,  and  door  and  casement  stood 
wide,  making  pits  of  darkness.  Few  lights  were 
visible,  but  a  continuous  hum  of  voices  issued  from 
the  human  hives,  and  now  and  then  a  transient 
red  glow  at  an  upper  window  showed  that  some  one 
was  smoking  a  pipe.  This  was  Mitchell's  Alley. 

The  shadows  closed  behind  the  two  men  as  they 
moved  forward,  and  neither  was  aware  of  the  figure 
which  had  been  discreetly  following  them  for  the 
last  ten  minutes.  If  Richard  had  suddenly  wheeled 
and  gone  back  a  dozen  paces,  he  would  have  come 
face  to  face  with  the  commercial  traveler. 

Mr.  Peters  paused  in  front  of  one  of  the  tene- 
ment houses,  and  motioned  with  his  thumb  over 
his  shoulder  for  Richard  to  follow  him  through  a 
yawning  doorway.  The  hall  was  as  dark  as  a  cave, 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  267 

and  full  of  stale,  moldy  odors.  Peters  shuffled  cau- 
tiously along  the  bare  boards  until  he  kicked  his 
toe  against  the  first  step  of  the  staircase. 

"  Keep  close  to  the  wall,  Mr.  Shackford,  and 
feel  your  way  up.  They  've  used  the  banisters  for 
kindling,  and  the  landlord  says  he  shan't  put  in 
any  more.  I  went  over  here  the  other  night,"  add- 
ed Mr.  Peters  reminiscentially. 

After  fumbling  several  seconds  for  the  latch, 
Mr.  Peters  pushed  open  a  door,  and  ushered  Rich- 
ard into  a  large,  gloomy  rear  room.  A  kerosene 
lamp  was  burning  dimly  on  the  mantel-shelf,  over 
which  hung  a  coarsely-colored  lithograph  of  the 
Virgin  in  a  pine  frame.  Under  the  picture  stood 
a  small  black  crucifix.  There  was  little  furniture, 
—  a  cooking-stove,  two  or  three  stools,  a  broken 
table,  and  a  chest  of  drawers.  On  an  iron  bed- 
stead in  the  corner  lay  Torrini,  muffled  to  the  chin 
in  a  blanket,  despite  the  hot  midsummer  night. 
His  right  arm,  as  if  it  were  wholly  disconnected 
with  his  body,  rested  in  a  splint  on  the  outside  of 
the  covering.  As  the  visitors  entered,  a  tall  dusky 
woman  with  blurred  eyes  rose  from  a  low  bench  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"  Is  he  awake  ?  "  asked  Peters. 

The  woman,  comprehending  the  glance  which 
accompanied  the  words,  though  not  the  words 
themselves,  nodded  yes. 


268  THE   STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY. 

«*  Here  is  Mr.  Shackford  come  to  see  you,  Tor- 
rini,"  Peters  said. 

The  man  slowly  unclosed  his  eyes ;  they  were 
unnaturally  brilliant  and  dilated,  and  seemed  to  ab- 
sorb the  rest  of  his  features. 

"  I  did  n't  want  him." 

"  Let  by-gones  be  by-gones,  Torrini,"  said  Rich- 
ard, approaching  the  bedside.  "  I  am  sorry  about 
this." 

"  You  are  very  good  ;  I  don't  understand.  I  ask 
nothing  of  Slocum  ;  but  the  signorina  comes  every 
day,  and  I  cannot  help  it.  What  would  you  have  ? 
T  'm  a  dead  man,"  and  he  turned  away  his  face. 

"  It  is  not  so  bad  as  that,"  said  Richard. 

Torrini  looked  up  with  a  ghastly  smile.  "  They 
nave  cut  off  the  hand  that  struck  you,  Mr.  Shack- 
ford." 

"  I  suppose  it  was  necessary.  I  am  very  sorry, 
[n  a  little  while  you  will  be  on  your  feet  again." 

"  It  is  too  late.  They  might  have  saved  me  by 
taking  the  arm,  but  I  would  not  allow  them.  I  may 
last  three  or  four  days.  The  doctor  says  it." 

Peters,  standing  in  the  shadow,  jerked  his  head 
affirmatively. 

"  I  do  not  care  for  myself,"  the  man  continued, 
— "  but  she  and  the  little  ones  —  That  is  what 
maddens  me.  They  will  starve." 


THE  STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  269 

"  They  will  not  be  let  starve  in  Stillwater,"  said 
Richard. 

Torrini  turned  his  eyes  upon  him  wistfully  and 
doubtfully.  "  You  will  help  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  and  others." 

"  If  they  could  be  got  to  Italy,"  said  Torrini, 
after  meditating,  "  it  would  be  well.  Her  father," 
giving  a  side  look  at  the  woman,  "  is  a  fisherman 
of  Capri."  At  the  word  Capri  the  woman  lifted 
her  head  quickly.  "  He  is  not  rich,  but  he 's  not 
poor  ;  he  would  take  her." 

"  You  would  wish  her  sent  to  Naples  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  If  you  do  not  pull  through,  she  and  the  chil- 
dren shall  go  there." 

"  Brigida !  "  called  Torrini ;  then  he  said  some- 
thing rapidly  in  Italian  to  the  woman,  who  buried 
her  face  in  both  hands,  and  did  not  reply. 

"  She  has  no  words  to  thank  you.  See,  she  is 
tired  to  death,  with  the  children  all  day  and  me  all 
.tight,  —  these  many  nights." 

"  Tell  her  to  go  to  bed  in  the  other  room,"  said 
Richard.  "  There  's  another  room,  is  n't  there  ? 
I  '11  sit  with  you." 

"You?" 

"  Your  wife  is  fagged  out,  —  that  is  plain.  Send 
her  to  bed,  and  don't  talk  any  more.  Peters,  I 


270  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

wish  you  'd  run  and  get  a  piece  of  ice  somewhere ; 
there  's  no  drinking-water  here.  Come,  now,  Tor- 
rim,  I  can't  speak  Italian.  Oh,  I  don't  mind  your 
scowling;  I  intend  to  stay." 

Torrini  slowly  unknitted  his  brows,  and  an  ir- 
resolute expression  stole  across  his  face  ;  then  he 
called  Brigida,  and  bade  her  go  in  with  the  chil- 
dren. She  bowed  her  head  submissively,  and  fixing 
her  melting  eyes  on  Eichard  for  an  instant  passed 
into  the  adjoining  chamber. 

Peters  shortly  reappeared  with  the  ice,  and  after 
setting  a  jug  of  water  on  the  table  departed.  Rich- 
ard turned  up  the  wick  of  the  kerosene  lamp,  which 
was  sending  forth  a  disagreeable  odor,  and  pinned 
an  old  newspaper  around  the  chimney  to  screen  the 
flame.  He  had,  by  an  odd  chance,  made  his  lamp- 
shade out  of  a  copy  of  The  Stillwater  Gazette  con- 
taining the  announcement  of  his  cousin's  death. 
Richard  gave  a  quick  start  as  his  eye  caught  the  il- 
luminated head-lines, —  Mysterious  Murder  of  Lem- 
lel  Shackford  !  Perhaps  a  slight  exclamation  es- 
caped Richard's  lips  at  the  same  time,  for  Torrini 
turned  and  asked  what  was  the  matter.  "Nothing 
at  all,"  said  Richard,  removing  the  paper,  and  plac- 
ing another  in  its  stead.  Then  he  threw  open  the 
blinds  of  the  window  looking  on  the  back  yard,  and 
set  his  hand-bag  against  the  door  to  prevent  it 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  271 

being  blown  to  by  the  draught.  Torrini,  without 
altering  the  rigid  position  of  his  head  on  the  pillow, 
followed  every  movement  with  a  look  of  curious  in- 
sistence, like  that  of  the  eyes  in  a  portrait.  His 
preparations  completed  for  the  night,  Richard  seat- 
ed himself  on  a  stool  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

The  obscurity  and  stillness  of  the  room  had  their 
effect  upon  the  sick  man,  who  presently  dropped 
into  a  light  sleep.  Richard  sat  thinking  of  Mar- 
garet, and  began  to  be  troubled  because  he  had 
neglected  to  send  her  word  of  his  detention,  which 
he  might  have  done  by  Peters.  It  was  now  too 
late.  The  town  clock  struck  ten  in  the  midst  of  his 
self-reproaches.  At  the  first  clang  of  the  bell,  Tor- 
rini awoke  with  a  start,  and  asked  for  water. 

"  If  anybody  comes,"  he  said,  glancing  in  a  be- 
wildered, anxious  way  at  the  shadows  huddled 
about  the  door,  "  you  are  not  to  leave  me  alone 
with  him." 

"  Him  ?   Whom  ?    Are  you  expecting  any  one  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  who  knows  ?  one  might  come.  Then, 
you  are  not  to  go  ;  you  are  not  to  leave  me  a  sec- 
ond." 

"  I  've  no  thought  of  it,"  replied  Richard  ;  "  you 

may  rest  easy He 's  a  trifle  light  in  the 

head,"  was  Richard's  reflection. 

After  that  Torrini  dozed  rather  than  slumbered, 


272  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

rousing  at  brief  intervals ;  and  whenever  he  awoke 
the  feverish  activity  of  his  brain  incited  him  to 
talk, — now  of  Italy,  and  now  of  matters  connect- 
ed with  his  experiences  in  this  country. 

"  Naples  is  a  pleasant  place !  "  he  broke  out  in 
the  hush  of  the  midnight,  just  as  Richard  was  drop- 
ping off.  "  The  band  plays  every  afternoon  on  the 
Chiaia.  And  then  the  festas,  —  every  third  day  a 
festa.  The  devil  was  in  my  body  when  I  left  there 
and  dragged  little  Brigida  into  all  this  misery.  We 
used  to  walk  of  an  evening  along  the  Marinella,  — 
that 's  a  strip  of  beach  just  beyond  the  Molo  Pic- 
colo. You  were  never  in  Naples  ?  " 

"Not  I,"  said  Richard.  "Here,  wet  your  lips, 
and  try  to  go  to  sleep  again." 

"  No,  I  can't  sleep  for  thinking.  When  the  sig- 
norina  came  to  see  me,  the  other  day,  her  heart  was 
pierced  with  pity.  Like  the  blessed  Madonna's,  her 
bosom  bleeds  for  all !  You  will  let  her  come  to- 
morrow ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  !  If  you  will  only  keep  quiet,  Mar- 
garet shall  come." 

"  Margherita,  we  say.  You  are  to  wed  her,  —  is 
it  not  so  ?  " 

Richard  turned  down  the  wick  of  the  lamp,  which 
was  blazing  and  spluttering,  and  did  not  answer. 
Then  Torrini  lay  silent  a  long  while,  apparently  list- 


THE   STILLWATER  TRAGEDY.  273 

ening  to  the  hum  of  the  telegraph  wires  attached 
to  one  end  of  the  roof.  At  odd  intervals  the  fresh- 
ening breeze  swept  these  wires,  and  awoke  a  low 
aeolian  murmur.  The  moon  rose  in  the  mean  time, 
and  painted  on  the  uncarpeted  floor  the  shape  of 
the  cherry  bough  that  stretched  across  the  window. 
It  was  two  o'clock ;  Richard  sat  with  his  head  bent 
forward,  in  a  drowse. 

"  Now  the  cousin  is  dead,  you  are  as  rich  as  a 
prince,  —  are  you  not  ?  "  inquired  Torrini,  who  had 
lain  for  the  last  half  hour  with  his  eyes  wide  open 
in  the  moonlight. 

Richard  straightened  himself  with  a  jerk. 

"  Torrini,  I  positively  forbid  you  to  talk  any 
more !  " 

"  I  remember  you  said  that  one  day,  somewhere. 
Where  was  it  ?  Ah,  in  the  yard  I  *  You  can't  be 
allowed  to  speak  here,  you  know.'  And  then  I 
struck  at  you,  —  with  that  hand  they've  taken 
away  !  See  how  I  remember  it  I  " 

'*  Why  do  you  bother  your  mind  with  such 
things?  Think  of  just  nothing  at  all,  and  rest. 
Perhaps  a  wet  cloth  on  your  forehead  will  refresh 
you.  I  wish  you  had  a  little  of  my  genius  for  not 
keeping  awake." 

"  You  are  tired,  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  had  two  broken  nights,  traveling." 

18 


274  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  And  I  give  you  no  peace  ?  " 

"  Well,  no,"  returned  Richard  bluntly,  hoping 
the  admission  would  induce  Torrini  to  tranquillize 
himself,  "  you  don't  give  me  much." 

"  Has  any  one  been  here  ?  "  demanded  Torrini 
abruptly. 

"  Not  a  soul.  Good  Heaven,  man,  do  you  know 
what  time  it  is  ?  " 

"  I  know,  —  I  know.  It 's  very  late.  I  ought 
to  keep  quiet ;  but,  the  devil  !  with  this  fever  in 
my  brain !  .  .  .  .  Mr.  Shackford ! "  and  Torrini,  in 
spite  of  his  imprisoned  limb,  suddenly  half  raised 
himself  from  the  mattress.  "I  —  I  "  — 

Richard  sprung  to  his  feet.  "  What  is  it,  — 
what  do  you  want  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Torrini,  falling  back  on  the  pil- 
low. 

Richard  brought  him  a  glass  of  water,  which  he 
refused.  He  lay  motionless,  with  his  eyes  shut,  as 
if  composing  himself,  and  Richard  returned  on  tip- 
toe to  his  bench.  A  moment  or  two  afterwards 
Torrini  stirred  the  blanket  with  his  foot. 

"  Mr.  Shackford  !  " 

"Well?" 

"  I  am  as  grateful  —  as  a  dog." 

Torrini  did  not  speak  again.  This  expression  of 
his  gratitude  appeared  to  ease  him.  His  respira- 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  275 

blon  grew  lighter  and  more  regular,  and  by  and  by 
he  fell  into  a  profound  sleep.  Richard  watched 
awhile  expectantly,  with  his  head  resting  against 
the  rail  of  the  bedstead ;  then  his  eyelids  drooped, 
and  he  too  slumbered.  But  once  or  twice,  before 
he  quite  lost  himself,  he  was  conscious  of  Brigida's 
thin  face  thrust  like  a  silver  wedge  through  the 
half-open  door  of  the  hall  bedroom.  It  was  the 
last  thing  he  remembered,  —  that  sharp,  pale  face 
peering  out  from  the  blackness  of  the  inner  cham- 
ber just  as  his  grasp  loosened  on  the  world  and  he 
drifted  off  on  the  tide  of  a  dream.  A  narrow  white 
hand,  like  a  child's,  seemed  to  be  laid  against  his 
breast.  It  was  not  Margaret's  hand,  and  yet  it 
was  hers.  No,  it  was  the  plaster  model  he  had 
made  that  idle  summer  afternoon,  years  and  years 
before  he  had  ever  thought  of  loving  her.  Strange 
for  it  to  be  there !  Then  Richard  began  wonder- 
ing how  the  gold  ring  would  look  on  the  slender 
forefinger.  He  unfastened  the  leather  bag  and 
took  out  the  ring.  He  was  vainly  trying  to  pass  it 
over  the  first  joint  of  the  dead  white  finger,  when 
the  cast  slipped  from  his  hold  and  fell  with  a  crash 
to  the  floor.  Richard  gave  a  shudder,  and  opened 
his  eyes.  Brigida  was  noiselessly  approaching  Tor- 
rini's  bedside.  Torrini  still  slept.  It  was  broad 
day.  Through  the  uncurtained  window  Richard 
«aw  the  blue  sky  barred  with  crimson. 


xxrv. 

"  RICHARD  did  come  home  last  night,  after  all," 
said  Mr.  Slocum,  with  a  flustered  air,  seating  him- 
self at  the  breakfast  table. 

Margaret  looked  up  quickly. 

"  I  just  met  Peters  on  the  street,  and  he  told 
me,"  added  Mr.  Slocum. 

"  Richard  returned  last  night,  and  did  not  come 
to  us ! " 

"  It  seems  that  he  watched  with  Torrini,  —  the 
man  is  going  to  die." 

"  Oh,"  said  Margaret,  cooling  instantly.  "  That 
was  like  Richard ;  he  never  thinks  of  himself  first. 
I  would  not  have  had  him  do  differently.  Last 
evening  you  were  filled  with  I  don't  know  what 
horrible  suspicions,  yet  see  how  simply  everything 
explains  itself." 

"  If  I  could  speak  candidly,  Margaret,  if  I  could 
express  myself  without  putting  you  into  a  passion, 
I  would  tell  you  that  Richard's  passing  the  niglit 
with  that  man  has  given  nie  two  or  three  ugly 
ideas." 

"  Positively,  papa,  you  are  worse  than  Mr.  Tag- 
gett."- 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  277 

"  I  shall  not  say  another  word,"  replied  Mr.  Slo- 
cum.  Then  he  unfolded  the  newspaper  lying  be- 
side him,  and  constructed  a  barrier  against  further 
colloquy. 

An  hour  afterwards,  when  Richard  threw  open 
the  door  of  his  private  workshop,  Margaret  was 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room  waiting  for  him. 
She  turned  with  a  little  cry  of  pleasure,  and  al- 
lowed Richard  to  take  her  in  his  arms,  and  kept  to 
the  spirit  and  the  letter  of  the  promise  she  had 
made  to  herself.  If  there  was  an  unwonted  gravity 
in  Margaret's  manner,  young  Shackford  was  not 
keen  enough  to  perceive  it.  All  that  morning, 
wherever  he  went,  he  carried  with  him  a  sense  of 
Margaret's  face  resting  for  a  moment  against  his 
shoulder,  and  the  happiness  of  it  rendered  him 
wholly  oblivious  to  the  constrained  and  chilly  de- 
meanor of  her  father  when  they  met.  The  inter- 
view was  purposely  cut  short  by  Mr.  Slocum,  who 
avoided  Richard  the  rest  of  the  day  with  a  persist- 
ency that  must  have  ended  in  forcing  itself  upon 
his  notice,  hud  he  not  been  so  engrossed  by  the 
work  which  had  accumulated  during  his  absence. 

Mr.  Slocum  had  let  the  correspondence  go  to  the 
winds,  and  a  formidable  collection  of  unanswered 
letters  lay  on  Shackford's  desk.  The  forenoon  \vas 
consumed  in  reducing  the  pile  and  settling  the  ques- 


278  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

tions  that  had  risen  in  the  shops,  for  Mr.  Slocum 
had  neglected  everything.  Richard  was  speedily 
advised  of  Blake's  dismissal  from  the  yard,  but, 
not  knowing  what  explanation  had  been  offered, 
was  unable  to  satisfy  Stevens's  curiosity  on  the  sub- 
ject. "  I  must  see  Slocum  about  that  at  once," 
reflected  Richard ;  but  the  opportunity  did  not  oc- 
cur, and  he  was  too  much  pressed  to  make  a  spe- 
cial business  of  it. 

Mr.  Slocum,  meanwhile,  was  in  a  wretched  state 
of  suspense  and  apprehension.  Justice  Beeinis's 
clerk  had  served  some  sort  of  legal  paper  —  pre- 
sumably a  subpoena  —  on  Richard,  who  had  coolly 
read  it  in  the  yard  under  the  gaze  of  all,  and  given 
no  sign  of  discomposure  beyond  a  momentary  lift- 
ing of  the  eyebrows.  Then  he  had  carelessly  thrust 
the  paper  into  one  of  his  pockets  and  continued  his 
directions  to  the  men.  Clearly  he  had  as  yet  no 
suspicion  of  the  mine  that  was  ready  to  be  sprung 
under  his  feet. 

Shortly  after  this  little  incident,  which  Mr.  Slo- 
cum had  witnessed  from  the  window  of  the  count- 
ing-room, Richard  spoke  a  word  or  two  to  Stevens, 
and  quitted  the  yard.  Mr.  Slocum  dropped  into 
the  carving  department. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Shackford,  Stevens  ?  " 

"He   has   gone   to  Mitchell's  Alley,  sir.     Said 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  279 

he  'd  be  away  an  hour.  Am  I  to  say  he  was 
wanted  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Mr.  Slocum,  hastily ;  "  any  time 
will  do.  You  need  n't  mention  that  I  inquired  for 
him,"  and  Mr.  Slocum  returned  to  the  counting- 
room. 

Before  the  hour  expired  he  again  distinguished 
Richard's  voice  in  the  workshops,  and  the  cheery 
tone  of  it  was  a  positive  affront  to  Mr.  Slocum. 
Looking  back  to  the  week  prior  to  the  tragedy  in 
Welch's  Court,  he  recollected  Richard's  unaccount- 
able dejection ;  he  had  had  the  air  of  a  person 
meditating  some  momentous  step,  —  the  pallor,  the 
set  face,  and  the  introspective  eye.  Then  came  the 
murder,  and  Richard's  complete  prostration.  Mr. 
Slocum  in  his  own  excitement  had  noted  it  superfi- 
cially at  the  time,  but  now  he  recalled  the  young 
man's  inordinate  sorrow,  and  it  seemed  rather  like 
remorse.  Was  his  present  immobile  serenity  the 
natural  expression  of  an  untroubled  conscience,  or 
the  manner  of  a  man  whose  heart  had  suddenly  os- 
sified, and  was  no  longer  capable  of  throbbing  with 
its  guilt  ?  Richard  Shackford  was  rapidly  becom- 
ing an  awful  problem  to  Mr.  Slocum. 

Since  the  death  of  his  cousin,  Richard  had  not 
been  so  much  like  his  former  self.  He  appeared  to 
have  taken  up  his  cheerfulness  at  the  point  where 


280  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

he  had  dropped  it  three  weeks  before.  If  there 
were  any  weight  resting  on  his  mind,  he  bore  it 
lightly,  with  a  kind  of  careless  defiance. 

In  his  visit  that  forenoon  to  Mitchell's  Alley 
he  had  arranged  for  Mrs.  Morganson,  his  cousin's 
old  housekeeper,  to  watch  with  Torrini  the  ensu- 
ing night.  This  left  Richard  at  liberty  to  spend 
the  evening  with  Margaret,  and  finish  his  corre- 
spondence. Directly  after  tea  he  repaired  to  the 
studio,  and,  lighting  the  German  student-lamp,  fell 
to  work  on  the  letters.  Margaret  came  in  shortly 
with  a  magazine,  and  seated  herself  near  the  round 
table  at  which  he  was  writing.  She  had  dreaded 
this  evening ;  it  could  scarcely  pass  without  some 
mention  of  Mr.  Taggett,  and  she  had  resolved  not 
to  speak  of  him.  If  Richard  questioned  her  it 
would  be  very  distressing.  How  could  she  tell 
Richard  that  Mr.  Taggett  accused  him  of  the  mur- 
der of  his  cousin,  and  that  her  own  father  half  be- 
lieved the  accusation  ?  No,  she  could  never  ac- 
knowledge that. 

For  nearly  an  hour  the  silence  of  the  room  was 
interrupted  only  by  the  scratching  of  Richard's 
pen  and  the  rustling  of  the  magazine  as  Margaret 
turned  the  leaf.  Now  and  then  he  looked  up  and 
caught  her  eye,  and  smiled,  and  went  on  with  his 
task.  It  was  a  veritable  return  of  the  old  times 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  281 

Margaret  became  absorbed  in  the  story  she  was 
reading,  and  forgot  her  uneasiness.  Her  left  hand 
rested  on  the  pile  of  answered  letters,  to  which 
Richard  added  one  at  intervals,  she  mechanically 
lifting  her  palm  and  replacing  it  on  the  fresh  man- 
uscript. Presently  Richard  observed  this  move- 
ment and  smiled  in  secret  at  the  slim  white  hand 
unconsciously  making  a  paper-weight  of  itself.  He 
regarded  it  covertly  for  a  moment,  and  then  his 
disastrous  dream  occurred  to  him.  There  should 
be  no  mistake  this  time.  He  drew  the  small  mo- 
rocco case  from  his  pocket,  and  leaning  across  the 
table  slipped  the  ring  on  Margaret's  finger. 

Margaret  gave  a  bewildered  start,  and  then  see- 
ing what  Richard  had  done  held  out  her  hand  to 
him  with  a  gracious,  impetuous  little  gesture. 

"  I  meant  to  give  it  you  this  morning,"  he  said, 
pressing  his  lip  to  the  ring,  "  but  the  daylight  did 
not  seem  fine  enough  for  it." 

"  I  thought  you  had  forgotten,"  said  Margaret, 
slowly  turning  the  band  on  her  finger. 

"  The  first  thing  I  did  in  New  York  was  to  go 
to  a  jeweler's  for  this  ring,  and  since  then  I  have 
guarded  it  day  and  night  as  dragonishly  as  if  it  had 
been  the  Koh-i-noor  diamond,  or  some  inestimable 
gem  which  hundreds  of  envious  persons  were  lying 
in  wait  to  wrest  from  me.  Walking  the  streets 


282  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

with  this  trinket  in  my  possession,  I  have  actually 
had  a  sense  of  personal  insecurity.  I  seemed  to  in- 
vite general  assault.  That  was  being  very  senti- 
mental, was  it  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  perhaps." 

"That  small  piece  of  gold  meant  so  much  to  me." 

"And  to  me,"  said  Margaret.  "Have  you 
finished  your  letters  ?  " 

"  Not  yet.  I  shall  be  through  in  ten  minutes, 
and  then  we  '11  have  the  evening  to  ourselves." 

Richard  hurriedly  resumed  his  writing  and 
Margaret  turned  to  her  novel  again  ;  but  the  inter- 
est had  faded  out  of  it ;  the  figures  had  grown 
threadbare  and  indistinct,  like  the  figures  in  a  piece 
of  old  tapestry,  :ind  after  a  moment  or  two  the 
magazine  glided  with  an  unnoticed  flutter  into  the 
girl's  lap.  She  sat  absently  twirling  the  gold  loop 
on  her  finger. 

Richard  added  the  address  to  the  final  envelope, 
dried  it  with  the  blotter,  and  abruptly  shut  down 
the  lid  of  the  inkstand  with  an  air  of  as  great 
satisfaction  as  if  he  had  been  the  fisherman  in  the 
Arabian  story  corking  up  the  wicked  afrite.  With 
his  finger  still  pressing  the  leaden  cover,  as  though 
he  were  afraid  the  imp  of  toil  would  get  out  again, 
he  was  suddenly  impressed  by  the  fact  that  he  had 
seen  very  little  of  Mr.  Slocum  that  day. 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  283 

"  I  have  hardly  spoken  to  him,"  he  reflected. 
"  Where  is  your  father,  to-night  ?  " 

**  He  has  a  headache,"  said  Margare^  "  He 
went  to  his  room  immediately  after  supper." 

"  It  is  nothing  serious,  of  course." 

"  I  fancy  not ;  papa  is  easily  excited,  and  he  has 
had  a  great  deal  to  trouble  him  lately,  —  the  strike, 
and  all  that." 

"  I  wonder  if  Taggett  has  been  bothering  him." 

"  I  dare  say  Mr.  Taggett  has  bothered  him." 

"  You  knew  of  his  being  in  the  yard  ?  " 

"  Not  while  he  was  here.  Papa  told  me  yester- 
day. I  think  Mr.  Taggett  was  scarcely  the  per- 
son to  render  much  assistance." 

"  Then  he  has  found  out  nothing  whatever  ?  " 

"  Nothing  important." 

"  But  anything  ?  Trifles  are  of  importance  in  a 
matter  like  this.  Your  father  never  wrote  me  a 
word  about- Taggett." 

"  Mr.  Taggett  has  made  a  failure  of  it,  Richard." 

"  If  nothing  new  has  transpired,  then  I  do  not 
understand  the  summons  I  received  to-day." 

"  A  summons !  " 

"  I  've  the  paper  somewhere.  No,  it  is  in  the 
pocket  of  my  other  coat.  I  take  it  there  is  to  be  a 
consultation  of  some  kind  at  Justice  Beemis's  office 
to-morrow." 


284  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Margaret,  with  her  face 
brightening.  To-morrow  would  lift  the  cloud 
which  %d  spread  itself  over  them  all,  and  was 
pressing  down  so  heavily  on  one  unconscious  head. 
To-morrow  Richard's  innocence  should  shine  forth 
and  confound  Mr.  Taggett.  A  vague  bitterness 
rose  in  Margaret's  heart  as  she  thought  of  her  fa- 
ther. "  Let  us  talk  of  something  else,"  she  said, 
brusquely  breaking  her  pause;  "let  us  talk  of 
something  pleasant." 

"  Of  ourselves,  then,"  suggested  Richard,  ban- 
ishing the  shadow  which  had  gathered  in  his  eyes 
at  his  first  mention  of  Mr.  Taggett's  name. 

"  Of  ourselves,"  repeated  Margaret  gayly. 

"  Then  you  must  give  me  your  hand,"  stipulated 
Richard,  drawing  his  chair  closer  to  hers. 

"There!"  said  Margaret. 

While  this  was  passing,  Mr.  Slocum,  in  the  soli- 
tude of  his  chamber,  was  vainly  attempting  to 
solve  the  question  whether  he  had  not  disregarded 
all  the  dictates  of  duty  and  common  sense  in  allow- 
ing Margaret  to  spend  the  evening  alone  with 
Richard  Shackford.  Mr.  Slocum  saw  one  thing 
with  painful  distinctness  —  that  he  could  not  help 
himself. 


XXV. 

THE  next  morning  Mr.  Slocum  did  not  make  his 
appearance  in  the  marble  yard.  His  half-simulated 
indisposition  of  the  previous  night  had  turned  into 
a  genuine  headache,  of  which  he  perhaps  willingly 
availed  himself  to  remain  in  his  room,  for  he  had 
no  desire  to  see  Richard  Shackford  that  day. 

It  was  an  hour  before  noon.  Up  to  that  moment 
Richard  had  been  engaged  in  reading  and  replying 
to  the  letters  received  by  the  morning's  mail,  a 
duty  which  usually  fell  to  Mr.  Slocum.  As  Richard 
stepped  from  the  office  into  the  yard  a  small  boy 
thrust  a  note  into  his  hand,  and  then  stood  off  a 
short  distance  tranquilly  boring  with  one  toe  in  the 
loose  gravel,  and  apparently  waiting  for  an  answer. 
Shackford  hastily  ran  his  eye  over  the  paper,  and 
turning  towards  the  boy  said,  a  little  impatiently  : 

"  Tell  him  I  will  come  at  once." 

There  was  another  person  in  Stillwater  that  fore- 
noon whose  agitation  was  scarcely  less  than  Mr. 
Slocum's,  though  it  greatly  differed  from  it  in  qual- 
ity. Mr.  Slocum  was  alive  to  his  finger-tips  with 
dismay  ;  Lawyer  Perkins  was  boiling  over  with  in- 


286  THE   STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY. 

dignation.  It  was  a  complex  indignation,  in  "which 
astonishment  and  incredulity  were  nicely  blended 
with  a  cordial  detestation  of  Mr.  Taggett  and  vague 
promptings  to  inflict  some  physical  injury  on  Jus- 
tice Beemis.  That  he,  Melanchthon  Perkins,  the 
confidential  legal  adviser  and  personal  friend  of  the 
late  Lemuel  Shackford,  should  have  been  kept  for 
two  weeks  in  profound  ignorance  of  proceedings  so 
nearly  touching  his  lamented  client  I  The  explosion 
of  the  old  lawyer's  wrath  was  so  unexpected  that 
Justice  Beemis,  who  had  dropped  in  to  make  the 
disclosures  and  talk  the  matter  over  informally, 
clutched  at  his  broad-brimmed  Panama  hat  and  pre- 
cipitately retreated  from  the  office.  Mr.  Perkins 
walked  up  and  down  the  worn  green  drugget  of  his 
private  room  for  half  an  hour  afterwards,  collecting 
himself,  and  then  dispatched  a  hurried  note  to  Rich- 
ard Shackford,  requesting  an  instant  interview  with 
him  at  his,  Lawyer  Perkins's,  chambers. 

When,  some  ten  minutes  subsequently,  Richard 
entered  the  low-studded  square  room,  darkened  with 
faded  moreen  curtains  and  filled  with  a  stale  odor 
of  law-calf,  Mr.  Perkins  was  seated  at  his  desk  and 
engaged  in  transferring  certain  imposing  red-sealed 
documents  to  a  green  baize  satchel  which  he  held 
between  his  knees.  He  had  regained  his  equanim- 
ity;  his  features  wore  their  usual  expression  of  ju- 


THE   STILLWATER   TBAGEDY.  287 

dicial  severity  ;  nothing  denoted  bis  recent  discom- 
posure, except  perhaps  an  additional  wantonness  in 
the  stringy  black  hair  falling  over  the  high  fore- 
head, —  that  pallid  high  forehead  which  always 
wore  the  look  of  being  covered  with  cold  perspira- 
tion. 

"  Mr.  Shackford,"  said  Lawyer  Perkins,  suspend- 
ing his  operations  a  second,  as  he  saluted  the  young 
man,  "  1  suppose  I  have  done  an  irregular  thing  in 
sending  for  you,  but  I  did  not  see  any  other  course 
open  to  me.  I  have  been  your  cousin's  attorney  for 
over  twenty-five  years,  and  I  've  a  great  regard  for 
you  personally.  That  must  justify  the  step  I  am 
taking." 

"  The  regard  is  mutual,  I  am  sure,"  returned 
Richard,  rather  surprised  by  this  friendly  overture, 
for  his  acquaintance  with  the  lawyer  had  been  of 
the  slightest,  though  it  had  extended  over  many 
years.  "  My  cousin  had  very  few  old  friends,  and  I 
earnestly  desire  to  have  them  mine.  If  I  were  in 
any  trouble,  there  is  no  one  to  whom  I  would  come 
so  unhesitatingly  as  to  you." 

"  But  you  are  in  trouble." 

"  Yes,  my  cousin's  death  was  very  distressing." 

"I  do  not  mean  that."  Mr.  Perkins  paused  a 
full  moment.  "  The  district  attorney  has  suddenly 
taken  a  deep  interest  in  the  case,  and  there  is  to  be 


288  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

a*  rigorous  overhauling  of  the  facts.  I  ain  afraid  it 
is  going  to  be  very  unpleasant  for  you,  Mr.  Shack- 
ford." 

"  How  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  "  asked  Richard, 
tranquilly. 

Lawyer  Perkins  fixed  his  black  eyes  on  him. 
"  Then  you  fully  understand  the  situation,  and  can 
explain  everything  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  could.  Unfortunately,  I  can  explain 
nothing.  I  don't  clearly  see  why  I  have  been  sum- 
moned to  attend  as  a  witness  at  the  investigation 
to  be  held  to-day  in  Justice  Beemis's  office." 

"  You  are  unacquainted  with  any  special  reason 
why  your  testimony  is  wanted  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  conceive  why  it  should  be  required. 
I  gave  my  evidence  at  the  time  of  the  inquest,  and 
have  nothing  to  add  to  it.  Strictly  speaking,  I 
have  had  of  late  years  no  relations  with  my  cousin. 
During  the  last  eighteen  months  we  have  spoken 
together  but  once." 

"  Have  you  had  any  conversation  on  this  subject 
with  Mr.  Slocum  since  your  return  from  New 
York?" 

"  No,  I  have  had  no  opportunity.  I  was  busy  all 
day  yesterday ;  he  was  ill  in  the  evening,  and  is 
still  confined  to  his  room." 

Mr.  Perkins  was  manifestly  embarrassed. 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  289 

"  That  is  unfortunate,"  he  said,  laying  the  bag 
on  the  desk.  "  I  wish  you  had  talked  with  Mr. 
Slocum.  Of  course  you  were  taken  into  the  se- 
cret of  Taggett's  presence  in  the  marble  yard  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  that  was  all  arranged  before  I  left 
home." 

"  You  don't  know  the  results  of  that  manoeu- 
vre ?  " 

"  There  were  no  results." 

"  On  the  contrary,  Taggett  claims  to  have  made 
very  important  discoveries." 

"  Indeed  !    Why  was  I  not  told  !  " 

"  I  can't  quite  comprehend  Mr.  Slocum's  silence." 

•k  What  has  Taggett  discovered  ?  " 

"  Several  things,  upon  which  he  builds  the  grav- 
est suspicions." 

"  Against  whom  ?  " 

"  Against  you." 

"  Against  me  !  "  cried  Richard,  recoiling.  The 
action  was  one  altogether  of  natural  amazement,  and 
convinced  Mr.  Perkins,  who  had  keenly  watched 
ther  effect  of  his  announcement,  that  young  Shack- 
ford  was  being  very  hardly  used. 

Justice  Beemis  had  given  Mr.  Perkins  only  a 
brief  outline  of  the  facts,  and  had  barely  touched 
on  details  when  the  old  lawyer's  anger  had  put  an 
end  to  the  conversation.  His  disgust  at  having  been 

19 


290  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

left  out  in  the  cold,  though  he  was  in  no  profes- 
sional way  concerned  in  the  task  of  discovering  the 
murderer  of  Lemuel  Shackford,  had  caused  Lawyer 
Perkins  instantly  to  repudiate  Mr.  Taggett's  action. 
"  Taggett  is  a  low,  intriguing  fellow,"  he  had  said 
to  Justice  Beeinis ;  "  Taggett  is  a  fraud."  Young 
Shackford's  ingenuous  manner  now  confirmed  Mr. 
Perkins  in  that  belief. 

Richard  recovered  himself  in  a  second  or  two. 
"  Why  did  not  Mr.  Slocum  mention  these  suspi- 
cions to  me  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Perhaps  he  found  it  difficult  to  do  so." 

"  Why  should  he  find  it  difficult  ?  " 

"  Suppose  he  believed  them." 

"  But  he  could  not  believe  them,  whatever  they 
are." 

"  Well,  then,  suppose  he  was  not  at  liberty  to 
speak." 

"  It  seems  that  you  are,  Mr.  Perkins,  and  you 
owe  it  to  me  to  be  explicit.  What  does  Taggett  sus- 
pect?" 

Lawyer  Perkins  brooded  a  while  before  replying. 
His  practice  was  of  a  miscellaneous  sort,  con  lined 
in  the  main  to  what  is  technically  termed  office 
practice.  Though  he  was  frequently  engaged  in 
small  cases  of  assault  and  battery,  —  he  could 
scarcely  escape  that  in  Still  water,  —  he  had  never 


THE   STILLWATER  TRAGEDY.  291 

conducted  an  important  criminal  case ;  but  when 
Lawyer  Perkins  looked  up  from  his  brief  reverie, 
he  had  fully  resolved  to  undertake  the  defense  of 
Richard  Shackford. 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  Taggett  suspects,"  he  said 
slowly,  "  if  you  will  allow  me  to  tell  you  in  my  own 
way.  I  must  ask  you  a  number  of  questions." 

Richard  gave  a  half-impatient  nod  of  assent. 

"  Where  were  you  on  the  night  of  the  murder?  " 
inquired  Lawyer  Perkins,  after  a  slight  pause. 

"  I  spent  the  evening  at  the  Slocums',  until  ten 
o'clock  ;  then  I  went  home,  —  but  not  directly. 
It  was  moonlight,  and  I  walked  about,  perhaps  for 
an  hour." 

"  Did  you  meet  any  one  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  recollect.  I  walked  out  of  town,  on 
the  turnpike." 

"When  you  returned  to  your  boarding-house, 
did  you  meet  any  one  ?  " 

"  No,  I  let  myself  in  with  a  pass-key.  The  family 
had  retired,  with  the  exception  of  Mr.  Pinkham." 

"  Then  you  saw  him  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  heard  him ;  he  was  playing  on  the 
llute  at  his  chamber  window,  or  near  it.  He  al- 
ways plays  on  the  flute  when  he  can't  sleep." 

"  What  o'clock  was  that  ?  " 

"  It  must  have  been  after  eleven." 


292  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  Your  stroll  was  confined  to  the  end  of  the  town 
most  remote  from  Welch's  Court  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  just  cruised  around  on  the  outskirts." 

"I  wish  you  had  spoken  with  somebody  that 
night." 

"  The  streets  were  deserted.  I  was  n't  likely  to 
meet  persons  on  the  turnpike." 

"  However,  some  one  may  have  seen  you  without 
your  knowing  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Richard  curtly.  He  was  growing 
restive  under  these  interrogations,  the  drift  of  which 
was  plain  enough  to  be  disagreeable.  Moreover, 
Mr.  Perkins  had  insensibly  assumed  the  tone  and 
air  of  a  counsel  cross-examining  a  witness  on  the 
other  side.  This  nocturnal  cruise,  whose  direction 
and  duration  were  known  only  to  young  Shackford, 
struck  Lawyer  Perkins  unpleasantly.  He  medi- 
tated a  moment  before  putting  the  next  question. 

"  Were  you  on  good  terms  —  I  mean  fairly  good 
terms  —  with  your  cousin  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Richard ;  "  but  the  fault  was  not 
mine.  He  never  liked  me.  As  a  child  I  annoyed 
him,  I  suppose,  and  when  I  grew  up  I  offended 
him  by  running  away  to  sea.  My  mortal  offense, 
however,  was  accepting  a  situation  in  Slocum's 
Yard.  I  have  been  in  my  cousin's  house  only  twice 
in  three  years." 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  293 

"  When  was  the  last  time  ?  " 

"  A  day  or  two  previous  to  the  strike." 

"  As  you  were  not  in  the  habit  of  visiting  the 
house,  you  must  have  had  some  purpose  in  going 
there.  What  was  the  occasion  ?  " 

Richard  hung  his  head  thoughtfully.  "  I  went 
there  to  talk  over  family  matters,  —  to  inform  him 
of  my  intended  marriage  with  Margaret  Slocum.  I 
wanted  his  good-will  and  support.  Mr.  Slocum 
had  offered  to  take  me  into  the  business.  I  thought 
that  perhaps  my  cousin  Lemuel,  seeing  how  pros- 
perous I  was,  would  be  more  friendly  to  me." 

"  Did  you  wish  him  to  lend  you  capital  ?  " 

"  I  did  n't  expect  or  wish  him  to  ;  but  there  was 
some  question  of  that." 

"  And  he  refused  ?  " 

"  Rather  brutally,  if  I  may  say  so  now." 

"  Was  there  a  quarrel  ?  " 

Richard  hesitated. 

"  Of  course  I  don't  press  you,"  said  Mr.  Perkins, 
with  some  stiffness.  "  You  are  not  on  the  witness 
stand." 

"I  began  to  think  I  was — in  the  prisoner's 
dock,"  answered  Richard,  smiling  ruefully.  "  How- 
ever, I  have  nothing  to  conceal.  I  hesitated  to  re- 
ply to  you  because  it  was  painful  for  me  to  reflect 
that  the  last  time  I  saw  my  cousin  we  parted  in 


294  THE   STILLWATER  TRAGEDY. 

anger.  He  charged  me  with  attempting  to  over- 
reach him,  and  I  left  the  house  in  indignation." 

"  That  was  the  last  time  you  saw  him  ?  " 

"  The  last  time  I  saw  him  alive." 

"  Was  there  any  communication  between  you 
two  after  that  ?  " 

"  No." 

'*  None  whatever  ?  " 

"  None." 

"  Are  you  quite  positive  ?  " 

"  As  positive  as  I  can  be  that  I  live  and  have  my 
senses." 

Lawyer  Perkins  pulled  a  black  strand  of  hair 
over  his  forehead,  and  remained  silent  for  nearly  a 
minute. 

"  Mr.  Shackford,  are  you  sure  that  your  cousin 
did  not  write  a  note  to  you  on  the  Monday  preced- 
ing the  night  of  his  death  ?  " 

"  He  may  have  written  a  dozen,  for  all  I  know. 
I  only  know  that  I  never  received  a  note  or  a  letter 
from  him  in  the  whole  course  of  my  life." 

"  Then  how  do  you  account  for  the  letter  which 
IIAS  been  found  in  your  rooms  in  Lime  Street,  — 
a  letter  addressed  to  you  by  Lemuel  Shackford,  and 
requesting  you  to  call  at  his  house  on  that  fatal 
Tuesday  night  ?  " 

"I  —  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  stammered  Rich- 
ard. s'  There  is  no  such  paper  !  " 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  295 

"  It  was  in  this  office  less  than  one  hour  ago," 
said  Lawyer  Perkins  sternly.  "It  was  brought  here 
for  me  to  identify  Lemuel  Shackford's  handwriting. 
Justice  Beemis  has  that  paper  !  " 

"  Justice  Beerais  has  it !  "  exclaimed  Richard. 

"  I  have  nothing  more  to  say,"  observed  Lawyer 
Perkins,  reaching  out  his  hand  towards  the  green 
bag,  as  a  sign  that  the  interview  was  ended. 
"  There  were  other  points  I  wished  to  have  some 
light  thrown  on  ;  but  I  have  gone  far  enough  to  see 
that  it  is  useless." 

"  What  more  is  there  ?  "  demanded  Richard  in  a 
voice  that  seemed  to  come  through  a  fog.  "  I  in- 
sist on  knowing !  You  suspect  me  of  my  cousin's 
murder?  " 

"  Mr.  Taggett  does." 

"  And  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  speaking  of  Mr.  Taggett." 

"  Well,  go  on,  speak  of  him,"  said  Richard  des- 
perately. "  What  else  has  he  discovered  ?  " 

Mr.  Perkins  wheeled  his  chair  round  until  he 
faced  the  young  man. 

"  He  has  discovered  in  your  workshop  a  chisel 
with  a  peculiar  break  in  the  edge,  —  a  deep  notch 
in  the  middle  of  the  bevel.  With  that  chisel  Lem- 
uel Shackford  was  killed." 

Richard  gave  a  perceptible   start,  and  put  his 


296  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

hand  to  his  head,  as  if  a  sudden  confused  memory 
had  set  the  temples  throbbing. 

44  A  full  box  of  safety  matches,"  continued  Mr. 
Perkins,  in  a  cold,  measured  voice,  as  though  he 
were  demonstrating  a  mathematical  problem,  "  con- 
tains one  hundred  matches.  Mr.  Taggett  has  dis- 
covered a  box  that  contains  only  ninety-nine.  The 
missing  match  was  used  that  night  in  Welch's 
Court." 

Richard  stared  at  him  blankly.  "  What  can  I 
say  ?  "  he  gasped- 

44  Say  nothing  to  me,"  returned  Lawyer  Perkins, 
hastily  thrusting  a  handful  of  loose  papers  into  the 
open  throat  of  the  green  bag,  which  he  garroted  an 
instant  afterwards  with  a  thick  black  cord.  Then 
he  rose  flurriedly  from  the  chair.  44 1  shall  have  to 
leave  you,"  he  said ;  44 1  've  an  appointment  at  the 
surrogate's." 

And  Lawyer  Perkins  passed  stiffly  from  the 
apartment. 

Richard  lingered  a  moment  alone  in  the  room 
with  his  chin  restir»sr  on  his  breast. 


XXVI. 

THERE  was  a  fire  in  Richard's  temples  as  he 
reeled  out  of  Lawyer  Perkins's  office.  It  was  now 
twelve  o'clock,  and  the  streets  were  thronged  with 
the  motley  population  disgorged  by  the  various 
mills  and  workshops.  Richard  felt  that  every  eye 
was  upon  him  ;  he  was  conscious  of  something  wild 
in  his  aspect  that  must  needs  attract  the  attention 
of  the  passers-by.  At  each  step  he  half  expected 
the  leveling  of  some  accusing  finger.  The  pitiless 
sunshine  seemed  to  single  him.  out  and  stream  upon 
him  like  a  calcium  light.  It  was  intolerable.  He 
must  get  away  from  this  jostling  crowd,  this  babel 
of  voices.  What  should  he  do,  where  should  he 
go  ?  To  return  to  the  yard  and  face  the  workmen 
was  not  to  be  thought  of ;  if  he  went  to  his  lodg- 
ings he  would  be  called  to  dinner,  and  have  to 
listen  to  the  inane  prattle  of  the  school- in  aster. 
That  would  be  even  more  intolerable  than  this  gar- 
ish daylight,  and  these  careless  squads  of  men  and 
women  who  paused  in  the  midst  of  their  laugh  to 
turn  and  stare.  Was  there  no  spot  in  Stillwater 
where  a  broken  man  could  hide  himself  long  enough 
to  collect  his  senses? 


298  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

With  his  hands  thrust  convulsively  into  the  pock- 
ets of  his  sack-coat,  Richard  turned  down  a  narrow 
passage-way  fringing  the  rear  of  some  warehouses. 
As  he  hurried  along  aimlessly  his  fingers  encount- 
ered something  in  one  of  his  pockets.  It  was  the 
key  of  a  new  lock  which  had  been  put  on  the  scul- 
lery door  of  the  house  in  Welch's  Court.  Richard's 
heart  gave  a  quick  throb.  There  at  least  was  a 
temporary  refuge ;  he  would  go  there  and  wait  until 
it  was  time  for  him  to  surrender  himself  to  the  offi- 
cers. 

It  appeared  to  Richard  that  he  was  nearly  a  year 
reaching  the  little  back  yard  of  the  lonely  house. 
He  slipped  into  the  scullery  and  locked  the  door, 
wondering  if  his  movements  had  been  observed 
since  he  quitted  the  main  street.  Here  he  drew  a 
long  breath  and  looked  around  him  ;  then  he  began 
wandering  restlessly  through  the  rooms,  of  which 
there  were  five  or  six  on  the  ground-floor.  The 
furniture,  the  carpets,  and  all  the  sordid  fixtures  of 
the  house  were  just  as  Richard  had  known  them  in 
his  childhood.  Everything'  was  unchanged,  even 
to  the  faded  peacock-feather  stuck  over  the  parlor 
looking-glass.  As  he  regarded  the  familiar  objects 
and  breathed  the  snuffy  atmosphere  peculiar  to  the 
place,  the  past  rose  so  vividly  before  him  that  lie 
would  scarcely  have  been  startled  if  a  lean,  gray 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.      '  299 

old  man  had  suddenly  appeared  in  one  of  the  door- 
ways. On  a  peg  in  the  front  hall  hung  his  cousin's 
napless  beaver  hat,  satirically  ready  to  be.  put  on  ; 
in  the  kitchen  closet  a  pair  of  ancient  shoes,  worn 
down  at  the  heel  and  with  taps  on  the  toe,  had  all 
the  air  of  intending  to  step  forth.  The  shoes  had 
been  carefully  blacked,  but  a  thin  skin  of  mould 
.  had  gathered  over  them.  They  looked  like  Lemuel 
Shackford.  They  had  taken  a  position  habitual 
with  him.  Richard  was  struck  by  the  subtile  irony 
which  lay  in  these  inanimate  things.  That  a  man's 
hat  should  outlast  the  man,  and  have  a  jaunty  ex- 
pression of  triumph !  That  a  dead  man's  shoes 
should  mimic  him ! 

The  tall  eight-day  clock  on  the  landing  had  run 
down.  It  had  stopped  at  twelve,  and  it  now  stood 
with  solemnly  uplifted  finger,  as  if  imposing  si- 
lence on  those  small,  unconsidered  noises  which 
commonly  creep  out,  like  mice,  only  at  midnight. 
The  house  was  full  of  such  stealthy  sounds.  The 
stairs  creaked  at  intervals,  mysteriously,  as  if  un- 
der the  weight  of  some  heavy  person  ascending. 
Now  and  then  the  woodwork  stretched  itself  with  a 
snap,  as  though  it  had  grown  stiff  in  the  joints  with 
remaining  so  long  in  one  position.  At  times  there 
were  muffled  reverberations  of  footfalls  on  the  floor- 
ing overhead.  Richard  had  a  curious  consciousness 


300  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

of  not  being  alone,  but  of  moving  in  the  midst  of  an 
invisible  throng  of  persons  who  elbowed  him  softly 
and  breathed  in  his  face,  and  vaguely  impressed 
themselves  upon  him  as  being  former  occupants  of 
the  premises.  This  populous  solitude,  this  silence 
with  its  busy  interruptions,  grew  insupportable  as 
he  passed  from  room  to  room. 

One  chamber  he  did  not  enter,  —  the  chamber 
in  which  his  cousin's  body  was  found  that  Wednes- 
day morning.  In  Richard's  imagination  it  waa 
still  lying  there,  white  and  piteous,  by  the  hearth. 
He  paused  at  the  threshold  and  glanced  in  ;  then 
turned  abruptly  and  mounted  the  staircase. 

On  gaining  his  old  apartment  in  the  gable,  Rich- 
ard seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  cot-bed.  His 
shoulders  sagged  down  and  a  stupefied  expression 
settled  upon  his  face,  but  his  brain  was  in  a  tumult. 
His  own  identity  was  become  a  matter  of  doubt 
to  him.  Was  he  the  same  Richard  Shackford 
who  had  found  life  so  sweet  when  he  awoke  that 
morning  ?  It  must  have  been  some  other  person 
who  had  sat  by  a  window  in  the  sunrise  thinking 
of  Margaret  Sloeum's  love,  —  some  Richard  Shack- 
ford  with  unstained  hands  !  This  one  was  accused 
of  murdering  his  kinsman  ;  the  weapon  with  which 
he  had  done  it,  the  very  match  he  had  used  to  light 
him  in  the  deed,  were  known  !  The  victim  him 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  301 

self  had  written  out  the  accusation  in  black  and 
white.  Richard's  brain  reeled  as  he  tried  to  fix 
his  thought  on  Lemuel  Shackford's  letter.  That 
letter !  —  where  had  it  been  all  this  while,  and  how 
did  it  come  into  Taggett's  possession  ?  Only  one 
thing  was  clear  to  Richard  in  his  inextricable  con- 
fusion, —  he  was  not  going  to  be  able  to  prove  his 
innocence ;  he  was  a  doomed  man,  and  within  the 
hour  his  shame  would  be  published  to  the  world. 
Rowland  Slocum  and  Lawyer  Perkins  had  already 
condemned  him,  and  Margaret  would  condemn  him 
when  she  knew  all ;  for  it  was  evident  that  up  to 
last  evening  she  had  not  been  told.  How  did  it 
happen  that  these  overwhelming  proofs  had  rolled 
themselves  up  against  him  ?  What  malign  influ- 
ences were  these  at  work,  hurrying  him  on  to  de- 
struction, and  not  leaving  a  single  loophole  of  es- 
cape? Who  would  believe  the  story  of  his  inno- 
cent ramble  on  the  turnpike  that  Tuesday  night  ? 
Who  could  doubt  that  he  had  gone  directly  from 
the  Slocums'  to  Welch's  Court,  and  then  crept 
home  red-handed  through  the  deserted  streets  ? 

Richard  heard  the  steam-whistles  recalling  the 
operatives  to  work,  and  dimly  understood  it  was  one 
o'clock  ;  but  after  that  he  paid  no  attention  to  the 
lapse  of  time.  It  was  an  hour  later,  perhaps  two 
hours,  —  Richard  could  not  tell,  —  when  he  roused 


302  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

himself  from  his  stupor,  and  descending  the  stairs 
passed  through  the  kitchen  into  the  scullery. 
There  he  halted  and  leaned  against  the  sink,  irres- 
olute, as  though  his  purpose,  if  he  had  had  a  pur- 
pose, were  escaping  him.  He  stood  with  his  eyes 
resting  listlessly  on  a  barrel  in  the  further  corner 
of  the  apartment.  It  was  a  heavy-hooped  wine- 
cask,  in  which  Lemuel  Shackford  had  been  wont  to 
keep  his  winter's  supply  of  salted  meat.  Suddenly 
Richard  started  forward  with  an  inarticulate  cry, 
and  at  the  same  instant  there  came  a  loud  knock- 
ing at  the  door  behind  him.  The  sound  reverber- 
ated through  the  empty  house,  filling  the  place 
with  awful  echoes,  —  like  those  knocks  at  the  gate 
of  Macbeth's  castle  the  night  of  Duncan's  mur- 
der. Richard  stood  petrified  for  a  second ;  then  he 
hastily  turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  and  Mr.  Taggett 
stepped  into  the  scullery. 

The  two  men  exchanged  swift  glances.  The  be- 
wildered air  of  a  moment  before  *had  passed  from 
Richard ;  the  dullness  had  faded  out  of  his  eyes, 
leaving  them  the  clear,  alert  expression  they  ordi- 
narily wore.  He  was  self-possessed,  but  the  effort 
his  self-possession  cost  him  was  obvious.  There 
was  a  something  in  his  face — a  dilation  of  the 
nostril,  a  curve  of  the  under  lip  —  which  put  Mr. 
Taggett  very  much  on  his  guard.  Mr.  Taggett 
was  the  first  to  speak. 


THE   STILLWATER  TRAGEDY.  303 

"  I  've  a  disagreeable  mission  here,"  he  said 
slowly,  with  his  hand  remaining  on  the  latch  of 
the  door,  which  he  had  closed  on  entering.  "  I 
have  a  warrant  for  your  arrest,  Mr.  Shackford." 

"  Stop  a  moment !  "  said  Richard,  with  a  glow 
in  his  eyes.  "  I  have  something  to  say." 

"  I  advise  you  not  to  make  any  statement." 

"  I  understand  my  position  perfectly,  Mr.  Tag- 
gett,  and  I  shall  disregard  the  advice.  After  you 
have  answered  me  one  or  two  questions,  I  shall  be 
quite  at  your  service." 

"  If  you  insist,  then." 

"  You  were  present  at  the  examination  of  Thomas 
Blufton  and  William  Durgin,  were  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  was." 

"You  recollect  William  Durgin's  testimony?" 

"  Most  distinctly." 

"  He  stated  that  the  stainsxm  his  clothes  were 
from  a  certain  barrel,  the  head  of  which  had  been 
freshly  painted  red." 

"  I  remember." 

"  Mr.  Taggett,  the  head  of  that  barrel  was  painted 
Hue!" 


XXVII. 

MB.  TAGGETT,  in  spite  of  the  excellent  subjec 
tion  under  which  he  held  his  nerves,  caught  his 
breath  at  these  words,  and  a  transient  pallor  over- 
spread his  face  as  he  followed  the  pointing  of  Rich- 
ard's finger.  If  William  Durgin  had  testified  falsely 
on  that  point,  if  he  had  swerved  a  hair's-breadth 
from  the  truth  in  that  matter,  then  there  was  but 
one  conclusion  to  be  drawn  from  his  perjury.  A 
flash  of  lightning  is  not  swifter  than  was  Mr.  Tag- 
gett's  thought  in  grasping  the  situation.  In  an 
instant  he  saw  all  his  carefully  articulated  case  fall 
to  pieces  on  his  hands.  Richard  crossed  the  nar- 
row room,  and  stood  in  front  of  him. 

"  Mr.  Taggett,  do  you  know  why  William  Dur- 
gin lied  ?  He  lied  because  it  was  life  or  death  with 
him  !  In  a  moment*  of  confusion  he  had  committed 
one  of  those  simple,  fatal  blunders  which  men  in 
his  circumstances  always  commit.  He  had  obliter- 
ated the  spots  on  his  clothes  with  red  paint,  when 
he  ought  to  have  used  blue  ! " 

"  That  is  a  very  grave  supposition." 

"  It  is  not  a  supposition,"  cried  Richard.  "  The 
daylight  is  not  a  plainer  fact." 


THK   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  305 

"  You  are  assuming  too  much,  Mr.  Shackford." 

"  I  am  assuming  nothing.  Durgin  has  convicted 
himself ;  he  has  fallen  into  a  trap  of  his  own  devis- 
ing. I  charge  him  with  the  murder  of  Lemuel 
Shackford  ;  I  charge  him  with  taking  the  chisel  and 
the  matches  from  my  workshop,  to  which  he  had 
free  access  ;  and  I  charge  him  with  replacing  those 
articles  in  order  to  divert  suspicion  upon  me.  My 
unfortunate  relations  with  my  cousin  gave  color  to 
this  suspicion.  The  plan  was  an  adroit  plan,  and 
has  succeeded,  it  seems." 

Mr.  Taggett  did  not  reply  at  once,  and  then  very 
coldly  :  "  You  will  pardon  me  for  suggesting  it,  but 
it  will  be  necessary  to  ascertain  if  this  is  the  cask 
which  Durgin  hooped,  and  also  if  the  head  has  not 
been  repainted  since." 

"  I  understand  what  your  doubt  implies.  It  is 
your  duty  to  assure  yourself  of  these  facts,  and 
nothing  can  be  easier.  The  person  who  packed  the 
meat  —  it  was  probably  a  provision  dealer  named 
Stubbs  —  will  of  course  be  able  to  recognize  his 
own  work.  The  other  question  you  can  settle  with 
a  scratch  of  your  penknife.  You  see.  There  has 
been  only  one  thin  coat  of  paint  laid  on,  —  the 
grain  of  the  wood  is  nearly  distinguishable  through 
it.  The  head  is  evidently  new  ;  but  the  cask  itself 
is  an  old  one.  It  has  stood  here  these  ten  years." 


306  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

Mr.  Taggett  bent  a  penetrating  look  on  Richard. 
"  Why  did  you  refuse  to  answer  the  subpoena,  Mr. 
Shackford  ?  " 

"But  I  haven't  refused.  I  was  on  my  way  to 
Justice  Beemis's  when  you  knocked.  Perhaps  I 
am  a  trifle  late,"  added  Richard,  catching  Mr.  Tag- 
gett's  distrustful  glance. 

"  The  summons  said  two  o'clock,"  remarked  Mr. 
Taggett,  pressing  the  spring  of  his  watch.  "  It  is 
now  after  three." 

"  After  three  !  " 

"  How  eould  you  neglect  it,  —  with  evidence  of 
such  presumable  importance  in  your  hands  ?  " 

"It  was  only  a  moment  ago  that  I  discovered 
this.  I  had  come  here  from  Mr.  Perkins's  office. 
Mr.  Perkins  had  informed  me  of  the  horrible 
charge  which  was  to  be  laid  at  my  door.  The  in- 
telligence fell  upon  me  like  a  thunder-clap.  I  think 
it  unsettled  my  reason  for  a  while.  I  was  unable  to 
put  two  ideas  together.  At  first  he  did  n't  believe 
I  had  killed  my  cousin,  and  presently  he  seemed  to 
believe  it.  When  I  got  out  in  the  street  the  side- 
walk lurched  under  my  feet  like  the  deck  of  a  ship  ; 
everything  swam  before  me.  I  don't  know  how  I 
managed  to  reach  this  house,  and  I  don't  know  how 
long  I  had  been  sitting  in  a  room  up-stairs  when  the 
recollection  of  the  subpoena  occurred  to  me.  I  was 


THE   STILLWATE.R   TRAGEDY.  807 

standing  here  dazed  with  despair;  I  saw  that  I  was 
somehow  caught  in  the  toils,  and  that  it  was  going 
to  be  impossible  to  prove  my  innocence.  If  an- 
other man  had  been  in  my  position,  I  should  have 
believed  him  guilty.  I  stood  looking  at  the  cask  in 
the  corner  there,  scarcely  conscious  of  it ;  then  I 
noticed  the  blue  paint  on  the  head,  and  then  Will- 
iam Durgin's  testimony  flashed  across  my  mind. 
Where  is  he  ? "  cried  Richard,  turning  swiftly. 
"That  man  should  be  arrested !  " 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  gone,"  said  Mr.  Taggett,  bit- 
ing his  lip. 

"  Do  you  mean  he  has  fled  ?  " 
"  If  you  are  correct — he  has  fled.  He  failed  to 
answer  the  summons  to-day,  and  the  constable  sent 
to  look  him  up  has  been  unable  to  find  him.  Dur- 
gin  was  in  the  bar-room  of  the  tavern  at  eight 
o'clock  last  night ;  he  has  not  been  seen  since." 

"  He  was  not  in  the  yard  this  morning.     You 
have  let  him  slip  through  your  fingers  !  " 
"  So  it  appears,  for  the  moment." 
"  You  still  doubt  me,  Mr.  Taggett?" 
"  I  don't  let  persons  slip  through  my  fingers." 
Ricbard  curbed  an  impatient  rejoinder,  and  said 
quietly,  "  William  Durgin  had  an  accomplice." 

Mr.  Taggett  flushed,  as  if  Richard  had  read  his 
secret  thought.     Durgin's  flight,  if  he  really  had 


308  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

fled,  had  suggested  a  fresh  possibility  to  Mr.  Tag- 
1  gett.  What  if  Durgin  were  merely  the  pliant  in- 
strument of  the  cleverer  man  who  was  now  using 
him  as  a  shield  ?  This  reflection  was  precisely  in 
Mr.  Taggett's  line.  In  absconding  Durgin  had  not 
only  secured  his  own  personal  safety,  but  had  exon- 
erated his  accomplice.  It  was  a  desperate  step  to 
take,  but  it  was  a  skillful  one. 

"He  had  an  accomplice?"  repeated  Mr.  Tag- 
gett,  after  a  moment.  "  Who  was  it  ?  " 

"Torrini!  " 

"  The  man  who  was  hurt  the  other  day  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  have  grounds  for  your  assertion  ?  " 

"  He  and  Durgin  were  intimate,  and  have  been 
much  together  lately.  I  sat  up  with  Torrini  the 
night  before  last  ;  he  acted  and  talked  very 
strangely ;  the  man  was  out  of  his  head  part  of  the 
time,  but  now,  as  I  think  it  over,  I  am  convinced 
that  he  had  this  matter  on  his  mind,  and  was  hint- 
ing at  it.  I  believe  he  would  have  made  disclos- 
ures if  I  had  urged  him  a  little.  He  was  evidently 
in  great  dread  of  a  visit  from  some  person,  and  that 
person  was  Durgin.  Torrini  ought  to  be  questioned 
without  delay  ;  he  is  very  low,  and  may  die  at  any 
moment.  He  is  lying  in  a  house  at  the  further  end 
of  the  town.  If  it  is  not  imperative  that  I  should 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  309 

report  myself  to  Justice  Beemis,  we  bad  better  go 
there  at  once." 

Mr.  Taggett,  who  had  been  standing  with  his 
head  half  bowed,  lifted  it  quickly  as  he  asked  the 
question,  "  Why  did  you  withhold  Lemuel  Shack- 
ford's  letter  ?" 

"  It  was  never  in  my  possession,  Mr.  Taggett," 
said  Richard,  starting.  "That  paper  is  something 
I  cannot  explain  at  present.  I  can  hardly  believe 
in  its  existence,  though  Mr.  Perkins  declares  that 
he  has  had  it  in  his  hands,  and  it  would  be  impos- 
sible for  him  to  make  a  mistake  in  my  cousin's 
writing." 

"  The  letter  was  found  in  your  lodgings." 

"  So  I  was  told.     I  don't  understand  it." 

"  That  explanation  will  not  satisfy  the  prosecut- 
ing attorney." 

"  I  have  only  one  theory  about  it,"  said  Richard 
slowly. 

"What  is  that?" 

"  I  prefer  not  to  state  it  now.  I  wish  to  stop  at 
my  boarding-house  on  the  way  to  Torrini's  ;  it  will 
not  be  out  of  our  course." 

Mr.  Taggett  gave  silent  acquiescence  to  this. 
Richard  opened  the  scullery  door,  and  the  two 
passed  into  the  court.  Neither  spoke  until  they 
reached  Lime  Street.  Mrs.  Spooner  herselT  an- 


310  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

swered  Richard's  ring,  for  he  had  purposely  dis- 
pensed with  the  use  of  his  pass-key. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you  a  moment,  Mrs.  Spooner," 
said  Richard,  making  no  motion  to  enter  the  hall. 
"  Thanks,  we  will  not  come  in.  I  merely  desire  to 
ask  you  a  question.  Were  you  at  home  all  day  on 
that  Monday  immediately  preceding  my  cousin's 
death  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Mrs.  Spooner  wonderingly,  with 
her  hand  still  resting  on  the  knob.  "I  wasn't  at 
home  at  all.  I  spent  the  day  and  part  of  the  night 
with  my  daughter  Maria  Ann  at  South  Millville. 
It  was  a  boy,"  added  Mrs.  Spooner,  quite  irrele- 
vantly, smoothing  her  ample  apron  with  the  disen- 
gaged hand. 

"  Then  Janet  was  at  home,"  said  Richard.  "  Call 
Janet." 

A  trim,  intelligent-looking  Nova  Scotia  girl  was 
summoned  from  the  basement  kitchen. 

"  Janet,"  said  Richard,  "  do  you  remember  the 
day,  about  three  weeks  ago,  that  Mrs.  Spooner  was 
absent  at  South  Millville  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  girl,  without  hesitation.  "  It 
was  the  day  before  "  —  and  then  she  stopped. 

"  Exactly  ;  it  was  the  day  before  my  cousin  was 
killed.  Now  I  want  you  to  recollect  whether  any 
letter  or  note  or  written  message  of  any  description 
was  left  for  me  at  this  house  on  that  day." 


THE   STILL  WATER   TRAGEDY.  311 

Janet  reflected.  "  I  think  there  was,  Mr.  Rich- 
ard, —  a  bit  of  paper  like." 

Mr.  Taggett  riveted  his  eyes  on  the  girl. 

"  Who  brought  that  paper  ?  "  demanded  Rich- 
ard. 

"  It  was  one  of  the  Murphy  boys,  I  think." 

"  Did  you  hand  it  to  me  ?  " 

"  No,  Mr.  Richard,  you  had  gone  out.  It  was 
just  after  breakfast." 

"  You  gave-  it  to  me  when  I  came  home  to  din- 
ner, then  ?  " 

"  No,"  returned  Janet,  becoming  confused  with  a 
dim  perception  that  something  had  gone  wrong  and 
she  was  committing  herself. 

"I  remember,  I  did  n't  come  home.  I  dined  at 
the  Slocums'.  What  did  you  do  with  that  paper  ?  " 

"  I  put  it  on  the  table  in  your  room  up-stairs." 

Mr.  Taggett's  eyes  gleamed  a  little  at  this. 

"  And  that  is  all  you  can  say  about  it  ?  "  in- 
quired Richard,  with  a  fallen  countenance. 

Janet  reflected.  She  reflected  a  long  while  this 
time.  "  No,  Mr.  Richard :  an  hour  or  so  after- 
wards, when  I  went  up  to  do  the  chamber-work,  I 
saw  that  the  wind  had  blown  the  paper  off  of  the 
table.  I  picked  up  the  note  and  put  it  back ;  but 
the  wind  blew  it  off  again." 

"  What  then  ?  " 


312  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"Then  I  shut  up  the  note  in  one  of  the  big 
books,  meaning  to  tell  you  of  it,  and  —  and  I  for- 
got it !  Oh,  Mr.  Richard,  have  I  done  something 
dreadful ?  " 

"  Dreadful !  "  cried  Richard.  "Janet,  I  could  hug 
you  ! " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Richard,"  said  Janet  with  a  little  co- 
quettish movement  natural  to  every  feminine  thing, 
bird,  flower,  or  human  being,  "  you  've  always  such 
a  pleasant  way  with  you." 

Then  there  was  a  moment  of  dead  silence.  Mrs. 
Spooner  saw  that  the  matter,  whatever  it  was,  was 
settled. 

"  You  need  n't  wait,  Janet !  "  she  said,  with  a  se- 
vere, mystified  air. 

"  We  are  greatly  obliged  to  you,  Mrs.  Spooner, 
not  to  mention  Janet,"  said  Richard  ;  "  and  if  Mr. 
Taggett  has  no  questions  to  ask  we  will  not  detain 
you." 

Mrs.  Spooner  turned  her  small  amiable  orbs  on 
Richard's  companion.  That  silent  little  man  Mr. 
Taggett!  "He  doesn't  look  like  much,"  was  the 
landlady's  unuttered  reflection  ;  and  indeed  he  did 
not  present  a  spirited  appearance.  Nevertheless 
Mrs.  Spooner  followed  him  down  the  street  with 
her  curious  gaze  until  he  and  Richard  passed  out  of 
sight. 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  313 

Neither  Richard  nor  Mr.  Taggett  was  disposed 
to  converse  as  they  wended  their  way  to  Mitchell's 
Alley.  Richard's  ire  was  slowly  kindling  at  the 
shameful  light  in  which  he  had  been  placed  by  Mr. 
Taggett,  and  Mr.  Taggett  was  striving  with  only 
partial  success  to  reconcile  himself  to  the  idea  of 
young  Shackford's  innocence.  Young  Shackford's 
innocence  was  a  very  awkward  thing  for  Mr.  Tag- 
gett, for  he  had  irretrievably  committed  himself  at 
head-quarters.  With  Richard's  latent  ire  was  min- 
gled a  feeling  of  profound  gratitude. 

"  The  Lord  was  on  my  side,"  he  said  presently. 

"  He  was  on  your  side,  as  you  remark  ;  and  when 
the  Lord  is  on  a  man's  side  a  detective  necessarily 
comes  out  second  best." 

"Really,  Mr.  Taggett,"  said  Richard,  smiling, 
"  that  is  a  handsome  admission  on  your  part." 

"  I  mean,  sir,"  replied  the  latter,  slightly  nettled, 
"  that  it  sometimes  seems  as  if  the  Lord  himself 
took  charge  of  a  case." 

"  Certainly  you  are  entitled  to  the  credit  of  go- 
ing to  the  bottom  of  this  one." 

"  I  have  skillfully  and  laboriously  damaged  my 
reputation,  Mr.  Shackford." 

Mr.  Taggett  said  this  with  so  heavy  an  air  that 
Richard  felt  a  stir  of  sympathy  in  his  bosom. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  said  good-naturedly. 


314  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  No,  I  beg  of  you ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Taggett. 
"Any  expression  of  friendliness  from  you  would 
finish  me !  For  nearly  ten  days  I  have  looked  upon 
you  as  a  most  cruel  and  consummate  villain." 

"  I  know,"  said  Richard.  "  I  must  be  quite  a 
disappointment  to  you,  in  a  small  way." 

Mr.  Taggett  laughed  in  spite  of  himself.  "  I 
hope  I  don't  take  a  morbid  view  of  it,"  he  said.  A 
few  steps  further  on  he  relaxed  his  gait.  "We 
have  taken  the  Hennessey  girl  into  custody.  Do 
you  imagine  she  was  concerned  ?  " 

"  Have  you  questioned  her  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  she  denies  everything,  except  that  she 
told  Durgin  you  had  quarreled  with  the  old  gentle- 
man." 

"  I  think  Mary  Hennessey  an  honest  girl.  She  's 
little  more  than  a  child.  I  doubt  if  she  knew  any- 
thing whatever.  Durgin  was  much  too  shrewd  to 
trust  her,  I  fancy." 

As  the  speakers  struck  into  the  principal  street, 
through  the  lower  and  busier  end  of  which  they 
were  obliged  to  pass,  Mr.  Taggett  caused  a  sensa- 
tion. The  drivers  of  carts  and  the  pedestrians  on 
both  sidewalks  stopped  and  looked  at  him.  The 
part  he  had  played  in  Slocum's  Yard  was  now  an 
open  secret,  and  had  produced  an  excitement  that 
was  not  confined  to  the  clientele  of  Snelling's  bar- 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  315 

room.  It  was  known  that  William  Durgin  had  dis- 
appeared, and  that  the  constables  were  searching 
for  him.  The  air  was  thick  with  flying  conjectures, 
but  none  of  them  precisely  hit  the  mark.  One 
rumor  there  was  which  seemed  almost  like  a  piece 
of  poetical  justice,  —  a  whisper  to  the  effect  that 
Rowland  Slocum  was  suspected  of  being  in  some 
way  mixed  up  with  the  murder.  The  fact  that 
Lawyer  Perkins,  with  his  green  bag  streaming  in 
the  wind,  so  to  speak,  had  been  seen  darting  into 
Mr.  Slocum's  private  residence  at  two  o'clock  that 
afternoon  was  sufficient  to  give  birth  to  the  horri- 
ble legend. 

"  Mitchell's  Alley,"  said  Mr.  Taggett,  thrusting 
his  arm  through  Richard's,  and  hurrying  on  to 
escape  the  Stillwater  gaze.  "  You  went  there  di- 
rectly from  the  station  the  night  you  got  home." 

"  How  did  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  I  was  told  by  a  fellow-traveler  of  yours,  -  and 
a  friend  of  mine." 

"  By  Jove  !  Did  it  ever  strike  you,  Mr.  Taggett, 
that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  being  too  clever? " 

"  It  has  occurred  to  me  recently." 

"  Here  is  the  house." 

Two  sallow-skinned  children,  with  wide,  wistful 
black  eyes,  who  were  sitting  on  the  stone  step, 
shyly  crowded  themselves  together  against  the  door 


316  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

jamb  to  make  passage-way  for  Richard  and  Mr. 
Taggett.  Then  the  two  pairs  of  eyes  veered  round 
inquiringly,  and  followed  the  strangers  up  the 
broken  staircase  and  saw  one  of  them  knock  at  the 
door  which  faced  the  landing. 

Richard's  hasty  tap  bringing  no  response,  he  lifted 
the  latch  without  further  ceremony  and  stepped  into 
the  chamber,  Mr.  Taggett  a  pace  or  two  behind 
him.  The  figure  of  Father  O'Meara  slowly  rising 
from  a  kneeling  posture  at  the  bedside  was  the 
first  object  that  met  their  eyes  ;  the  second  was 
Torrini's  placid  face,  turned  a  little  on  the  pillow ; 
the  third  was  Brigida  sitting  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  motionless,  with  her  arms  wrapped  in  her 
apron. 

*'  He  is  dead,"  said  the  priest  softly,  advancing  a 
step  towards  Richard.  "You  are  too  late.  He 
wanted  to  see  you,  Mr.  Shackford,  but  you  were 
not  to  be  found." 

Richard  sent  a  swift  glance  over  the  priest's 
shoulder.  "  He  wanted  to  tell  me  what  part  he 
had  played  in  my  cousin's  murder?  "  said  Richard. 

"  God  forbid  !  the  wretched  man  had  many  a  sin 
on  his  soul,  but  not  that." 

"  Not  that  I  " 

"  No ;  he  had  no  hand  it,  —  no  more  than  you 
or  I.  His  fault  was  that  he  concealed  his  knowl- 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  317 

edge  of  the  deed  after  it  was  done.  He  did  not 
even  suspect  who  committed  the  crime  until  two 
days  afterwards,  when  William  Durgin  "  — 

Richard's  eyes  lighted  up  as  they  encountered 
Mr.  Taggett's.  The  priest  mistook  the  significance 
of  the  glances. 

"  No,"  said  Father  O'Meara,  indicating  Brigida 
with  a  quick  motion  of  his  hand,  "  the  poor  soul 
does  not  understand  a  word.  But  even  if  she  did, 
I  should  have  to  speak  of  these  matters  here  and 
now,  while  they  are  fresh  in  my  mind.  I  am 
obeying  the  solemn  injunctions  of  the  dead.  Two 
days  after  the  murder  William  Durgin  came  to 
Torrini  and  confessed  the  deed,  offering  to  share 
with  him  a  large  sum  in  gold  and  notes  if  he  would 
hide  the  money  temporarily.  Torrini  agreed  to  do 
so.  Later  Durgin  confided  to  him  his  plan  of  turn- 
ing suspicion  upon  you,  Mr.  Shackford ;  indeed,  of 
directly  charging  you  with  the  murder,  if  the  worst 
came  to  the  worst.  Torrini  agreed  to  that  also,  be- 
cause of  some  real  or  fancied  injury  at  your  hands. 
It  seems  that  the  implement  which  Durgin  had 
employed  in  forcing  the  scullery  door  —  the  imple- 
ment which  he  afterwards  used  so  mercilessly  — 
had  been  stolen  from  your  workshop.  The  next 
morning  Durgin  put  the  tool  back  in  its  place,  not 
knowing  what  other  disposition  to  make  of  it,  and 


318  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

it  was  then  that  the  idea  of  shouldering  the  crime 
upon  you  entered  his  wicked  heart.  According  to 
Torrini,  Durgin  did  not  intend  to  harm  the  old 
gentleman,  but  simply  to  rob  him.  The  unfortu- 
nate man  was  awakened  by  the  noise  Durgin  made 
in  breaking  open  the  safe,  and  rushed  in  to  his 
doom.  Having  then  no  fear  of  interruption,  Dur- 
gin leisurely  ransacked  the  house.  How  he  came 
across  the  will,  and  destroyed  it  with  the  idea  that 
he  was  putting  the  estate  out  of  your  possession  — 
this  and  other  details  I  shall  give  you  by  and  by." 
Father  O'Meara  paused  a  moment.  "  After  the 
accident  at  the  mill  and  the  conviction  that  he 
was  not  to  recover,  Torrini's  conscience  began  to 
prick  him.  When  he  reflected  on  Miss  Slocum's 
kindness  to  his  family  during  the  strike,  when  he 
now  saw  her  saving  his  wife  and  children  from  ab- 
sdiiite  starvation,  he  was  nearly  ready  to  break  the 
oath  with  which  he  had  bound  himself  to  William 
Durgin.  Curiously  enough,  this  man,  so  reckless 
in  many  things,  held  his  pledged  word  sacred. 
Meanwhile  his  wavering  condition  became  appar- 
ent to-  Durgin,  who  grew  alarmed,  and  demanded 
the  stolen  property.  Torrini  refused  to  give  it  up ; 
even  his  own  bitter  necessities  had  not  tempted 
him  to  touch  a  penny  of  it.  For  the  last  three 
days  he  was  in  deadly  terror  lest  Durgin  should 


THE   STILLWATEB   TRAGEDY.  319 

wrest  the  money  from  him  by  force.  The  poor 
woman,  here,  knew  nothing  of  all  this.  It  was  her 
presence,  however,  which  probably  prevented  Dur- 
gin  from  proceeding  to  extremities  with  Torrini, 
who  took  care  never  to  be  left  alone." 

"  I  recollect,"  said  Richard,  "  the  night  I  watched 
with  him  he  was  constantly  expecting  some  one.  I 
supposed  him  wandering  in  his  mind." 

"  He  was  expecting  Durgin,  though  Torrini  had 
every  reason  for  believing  that  he  had  fled." 

Mr.  Taggett  leaned  forward,  and  asked,  "  When 
did  he  go,  —  and  where  ?  " 

"He  was  too  cunning  to  confide  his  plans  to 
Torrini.  Three  nights  ago  Durgin  came  here  and 
begged  for  a  portion  of  the  bank-notes;  previously 
he  had  reclaimed  the  whole  sum ;  he  said  the  place 
was  growing  too  warm  for  him,  and  that  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  leave.  But  Torrini  he  !  on 
to  the  money,  having  resolved  that  it  should  be  re- 
stored intact  to  you.  He  promised  Durgin,  how- 
ever, to  keep  his  flight  secret  for  three  or  four  days, 
at  the  end  of  which  time  Torrini  meant  to  reveal 
all  to  me  at  confession.  The  night  you  sat  with 
him,  Mr.  Shackford,  he  was  near  breaking  his  prom- 
ise ;  your  kindness  was  coals  of  fire  on  his  head. 
His  agony,  lest  he  should  die  or  lose  his  senses 
before  he  could  make  known  the  full  depth  of  Dur- 


320  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

gin's  villainy,  must  have  been  something  terrible. 
This  is  the  substance  of  what  the  poor  creature 
begged  me  to  say  to  you  with  his  dying  regrets. 
The  money  is  hidden  somewhere  under  the  mat- 
tress, I  believe.  A  better  man  than  Torrini  would 
have  spent  some  of  it,"  added  Father  O'Meara, 
waving  a  sort  of  benediction  in  the  direction  of 
the  bed. 

Richard  did  not  speak  for  a  moment  or  two. 
The  wretchedness  and  grimness  of  it  all  smote  him 
to  the  heart.  When  he  looked  up  Mr.  Taggett  was 
gone,  and  the  priest  was  gently  drawing  the  cover- 
let over  Torrini's  face. 

Richard  approached  Father  O'Meara  and  said : 
"  When  the  money  is  found,  please  take  charge 
of  it,  and  see  that  every  decent  arrangement  is 
made.  I  mean,  spare  nothing.  I  am  a  Protestant, 
but  I  believe  in  any  man's  prayers  when  they  are 
not  addressed  to  a  heathen  image.  I  promised  Tor- 
rini to  send  his  wife  and  children  to  Italy.  This 
pitiful,  miserable  gold,  which  cost  so  dear  and  is 
worth  so  little,  shall  be  made  to  do  that  much  good, 
at  least." 

As  Richard  was  speaking,  a  light  footfall  sounded 
on  the  staircase  outside  ;  then  the  door,  which  stood 
ajar,  was  softly  pushed  open,  and  Margaret  paused 
on  the  threshold.  At  the  rustle  of  her  dress  Rich 
ard  turned,  and  hastened  towards  her. 


THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY.  321 

"  It  is  all  over,"  he  said  softly,  laying  his  finger 
on  his  lip.  Father  OlMeara  was  again  kneeling  by 
the  bedside. 

"  Let  us  go  now,"  whispered  Richard  to  Mar- 
garet. It  seemed  fit  that  they  should  leave  the 
living  and  the  dead  to  the  murmured  prayers  and 
solemn  ministration  of  the  kindly  priest.  Such 
later  services  as  Margaret  could  render  to  the  be- 
reaved woman  were  not  to  be  wanting. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  Richard  Shackford 
halted  abruptly,  and,  oblivious  of  the  two  children 
who  were  softly  chattering  together  in  the  door- 
way, caught  Margaret's  hand  in  his. 

"  Margaret,  Torrini  has  made  a  confession  that 
sets  at  rest  all  question  of  my  cousin's  death." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  he  "  —  Margaret  faltered, 
and  left  the  sentence  unfinished. 

"  No;  it  was  William  Durgin,  God  forgive  him!  " 

"  William  Durgin  !  "  The  young  girl's  fingers 
closed  nervously  on  Richard's  as  she  echoed  the 
name,  and  she  began  trembling.  "  That  —  that  is 
stranger  yet ! " 

"  I  will  tell  you  everything  when  we  get  home  ; 
this  is  no  time  or  place ;  but  one  thing  I  must  ask 
you  now  and  here.  When  you  sat  with  me  last 
night  were  you  aware  that  Mr.  Taggett  firmly  be- 
lieved it  was  I  who  had  killed  Lemuel  Shackford?  " 

21 


322  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret. 

"That  is  all  I  care  to  know!"  cried  Richard; 
"that  consoles  me!"  and  the  two  pairs  of  great 
inquisitive  eyes  looking  up  from  the  stone  step 
saw  the  signorina  standing  quite  mute  and  color- 
less with  the  strange  gentleman's  arms  around 
her.  And  the  siguorina  was  smiling  I 


xxvm. 

ONE  June  morning,  precisely  a  year  from  that 
morning  when  the  reader  first  saw  the  daylight 
breaking  upon  Stillwater,  several  workmen  with 
ladders  and  hammers  were  putting  up  a  freshly 
painted  sign  over  the  gate  of  the  marble  yard.  Mr. 
Slocum  and  Richard  stood  on  the  opposite  curb- 
stone, to  which  they  had  retired  in  order  to  take  in 
the  general  effect.  The  new  sign  read,  —  Slocum 
&  Shackford.  Richard  had  protested  against  the 
displacement  of  its  weather-stained  predecessor;  it 
seemed  to  him  an  act  little  short  of  vandalism  ;  but 
Mr.  Slocum  was  obstinate,  and  would  have  it  done. 
He  was  secretly  atoning  for  a  deep  injustice,  into 
which  Richard  had  been  at  once  too  sensitive  and 
too  wise  closely  to  inquire.  If  Mr.  Slocum  had 
harbored  a  temporary  doubt  of  him  Richard  did 
not  care  to  know  it ;  it  was  quite  enough  to  suspect 
the  fact.  His  sufficient  recompense  was  that  Mar- 
garet had  not  doubted.  They  had  now  been  mar- 
ried six  months.  The  shadow  of  the  tragedy  in 
Welch's  Court  had  long  ceased  to  oppress  them  ;  it 
had  vanished  with  the  hasty  departure  of  Mr.  Tag- 


324  THE   STILLWATER   TRAGEDY. 

gett.  Neither  he  nor  William  Durgin  was  ever  seen 
again  in  the  flesh  in  Stillwater ;  but  they  both  still 
led,  and  will  probably  continue  for  years  to  lead,  a 
sort  of  phantasmal,  legendary  life  in  Snelling's  bar- 
room. Durgin  in  his  flight  had  left  no  traces. 
From  time  to  time,  as  the  months  rolled  on,  a 
misty  rumor  was  blown  to  the  town  of  his  having 
been  seen  in  some  remote  foreign  city,  —  now  in 
one  place,  and  now  in  another,  always  on  the  point 
of  departing,  self-pursued  like  the  Wandering  Jew ; 
but  nothing  authentic.  His  after-fate  was  to  be  a 
sealed  book  to  Stillwater. 

"  I  really  wish  you  had  let  the  old  sign  stand," 
said  Richard,  as  the  carpenters  removed  the  lad- 
ders. "  The  yard  can  never  be  anything  but 
Slocum's  Yard." 

"  It  looks  remarkably  well  up  there,"  replied 
Mr.  Slocurn,  shading  his  eyes  critically  with  one 
hand.  "  You  object  to  the  change,  but  for  my 
part  I  don't  object  to  changes.  I  trust  I  may  live 
to  see  the  day  when  even  this  sign  will  have  to  be 
altered  to  —  Slocum,  Shackford  &  Son.  How  would 
you  like  that  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say,"  returned  Richard  laughing,  as  they 
passed  into  the  yard  together.  "  I  should  first  have 
to  talk  it  over —  with  the  son  !  " 


en 
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